Disguised Affections
by dressagegrrrl
Summary: AU. SSHG. Post-Vold. Snape is #1 on the Dth Eater hit-list after the fall of the Dark Lord. His memory is wiped when he is attacked, and to buy time to find a solution, Dumbledore hides him amongst the 7th yrs under a glamour and the watchful eye of HG.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The man in the hospital bed was shaking and drenched in sweat, his dark hair an oil spill across his pillow. Blood poured from numerous cuts on his chest and face, and one particularly nasty gash meandered from his left collarbone to his right hip, a reddened, Biblical Nile, spilling blood with each pump of his heart.

Albus Dumbledore watched the mediwitch tending to the man he loved like a son with deep concern. Poppy's movements were precise, with no wasted effort as she flicked her wand and murmured healing spells over Severus Snape. Slowly all of the cuts knitted together until they were undetectable from the rest of his flesh; all except the bloody laceration that bisected his torso. Poppy hissed as it closed and healed, but it remained an angry red scar that seemed liable to reopen with movement.

"A poison of some sort?" Dumbledore asked.

"Maybe. I'll have to take some blood to determine." She huffed in irritation. "HE could have isolated the potion or poison in no time. Of all the bloody luck, our Potions Master is the one struck down." She turned to face the old wizard. "Except it's not really a coincidence, is it? It's been two months, TWO MONTHS since Harry struck down You-Know-Who, and this is the FIFTH time since the final battle that Severus has been under my care." Poppy smoothed the hair off of Severus's pallid forehead. She had a fondness for the man that the other Hogwarts professors couldn't understand.

Severus had entered Hogwarts as an eleven year old and from that time on, he'd been admitted to the hospital wing more times than any other student or professor. As a skinny, sullen boy, he'd sat on her stool, chin jutting fiercely, refusing to name names as Poppy once again fixed a broken nose or regrew the bones in a hand. Severus Snape never cried out in pain, and never shed a tear. Instead, he'd thank her through gritted teeth, a cold and helpless fury shining in his eyes.

Adult Severus was not much different from the boy he'd been, except his wounds had grown exponentially worse. He'd return from Dark Revels shaking from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse, seizures wracking his form for hours. As he thanked the mediwitch once again, his mouth would be filled with blood from biting his cheek to keep from screaming. It seemed that every year, his eyes grew colder and darker, and he retreated further into himself.

Grief for this wounded man prompted her to say, "Albus, he can't continue like this. You know the remaining Death Eaters are targeting him specifically because they view him as having betrayed them. We have to do something to protect him. His whole life no one has ever stood up for him. He's always been the one in danger; the one who sacrifices. The battle's over. We've won. Voldemort's dead." The unconscious man flinched at hearing his old Master's name.

Albus looked into Poppy's eyes and sighed. "You are quite right, of course. I have brought it up to Severus every time he's found himself in your patient and knowledgeable care since Harry took down Tom Riddle." He stroked his beard meditatively. "You know how stubborn he is. I don't know if he particularly cares if he lives or dies now that his task is finished."

Poppy made a disapproving noise in her throat as she took a vial of blood from Severus for testing. She cast a stasis spell and handed it to the Headmaster.

He smiled sadly and gestured with the bottle. "I'll have Horace Slughorn start working on this right away. How long before Severus wakes up?"

"It depends on what is in that vial and how seriously his immune system was compromised by Lucius's expert application of Cruciatus." She turned away sharply and began rearranging the medicinal potions in the cabinets behind her. Her breath caught in her chest as she recognized the spidery script on the bottles. She felt Albus's hand on her shoulder and heard his voice.

"You are right, Poppy. I will figure out some way to keep him safe."

* * *

"It's a very strong dose of Death's Oblivion potion." Seeing Poppy's and Albus's alarmed expressions, Horace Slughorn hastened to add, "No, it's not a poison, and it certainly won't kill him. It's a memory suppressor… a very good one actually. If given a large enough dose, it can actually wipe every single memory, conscious or unconscious, cognitive, physical, or emotional, and leave a blank slate. Antonio Bellacruza, the Italian potions master who invented it in 1372, was also a rather abominable poet. He called it 'Death's Oblivion' because he fancied the effects of his potion must be similar to the blankness a soul experiences in the moments between death and rebirth. Rubbish, of course. He was a truly brilliant Master, but gave his potions ridiculous names like this one… And let's not forget the infamous aphrodisiac 'Lady Abruzzi's Tea Party,' the effects which—"

Dumbledore cleared his throat gently, interrupting the man mid-pontification. "Excellent, Horace. All terribly important details. Is there any hope of a cure for one affected by such a potion?"

Slughorn blinked myopically. "Yes, of course. That's why it fell out of favor. Well, one of the reasons anyway. There is a potion to reverse it. Death's Oblivion is a _suppressor_, not an eradicator of memories. The antidote merely unlocks them. Also, a well cast Obliviate is much faster than brewing a potion, and far more precise, too. You can never tell what will be lost using the potion."

"How long would it take to brew the antidote?" Poppy asked, relieved.

Slughorn considered the question. "Once I am ready to brew, two months if all goes well. However, I'd need at least six weeks to do the arithmantic calculations to determine the strength of the antidote needed, and the correct dosage before I begin brewing."

"And once the potion is administered? How long will it take for him to regain his memories?" The Headmaster inquired.

"It depends. It _unlocks_ the memories, and they come back as they are triggered. There have been cases documented in _Moste Potente Potions_ that have been as short as a week, and some that have taken several months."

Albus looked at Poppy. His eyes were twinkling for the first time since Severus Snape had been apparated to the hospital wing by Nymphadora Tonks after the attack.

"Horace, would you be able to come back and teach Potions this year? I'm afraid Severus will be indisposed for the next term, and we are going to need your expertise." At Horace's nod, Albus turned to face the Hogwarts mediwitch. "Poppy, I have a plan to protect our stubborn Potions Master. We shall hide him in plain sight."

The headmaster stroked his beard for a moment before looking down in surprise. "Drat it! Poppy, do you have more of that de-sticking balm? I've discovered another lemon drop in my beard. Ah… two actually."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The Headmaster looked at the young man sitting quietly before him. He was a slender boy of eighteen with shiny raven's wing hair that reached to his shoulder blades, an aquiline nose that appeared to have been broken repeatedly, healed, then broken again, and a healthy glowing tan resulting from several weeks in the summer sun spent helping Hagrid take care of the grounds. The young man neatly crossed his ankles and tucked them beneath his seat. His eyes were shadowed and guarded as he watched the old wizard.

"What are we waiting for, sir?" His voice was deep and quiet.

"Because of our rather unusual circumstances," here Dumbledore winked merrily to the boy's frustration, "and because you'll be starting Hogwarts as a seventh year, I have asked our Head Girl to help ease your transition into classes, Con. We are currently awaiting her arrival." The Headmaster looked terribly pleased with himself, and Constantine gritted his teeth.

"Why the Head Girl and not the Head Boy?"

"You and Miss Granger share a House. The Head Boy is in Slytherin. Rest assured if the Sorting Hat had placed you there, it would be Mr. Zabini on whom we'd be waiting."

Con shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Moments before, Albus Dumbledore had placed the ratty Sorting Hat on his head to determine in which of Hogwarts four houses he'd spend his last year of schooling. It had taken the ancient hat an extraordinary length of time, but it had eventually declared, "The cunning and ambition you possess is nearly unrivalled by any witch or wizard who currently walks these halls. However, your courageous heart dictates that you are undeniably a GRYFFINDOR!!"

"Well, well," Albus had murmured, surprised. His blue eyes met Con's black ones as he said, "How very unexpected."

Constantine was brought out of his reverie when he heard a prim female voice announce "Fizzing Whizbees." The door to the Headmaster's private office swung open to reveal a young woman suffocating under a mass of curling, bushy brown hair. He stood politely as she entered the room, curious to meet Hermione Granger after hearing the groundskeeper discuss her and the other two thirds of the "Golden Trio" (as the _Daily Prophet_ had named them) ad nauseum. Con decided that he had expected her to be taller. This petite, open-faced girl didn't look capable of defeating a first year, let alone a homicidal, reptilian dark wizard intent on taking over the world. Hermione was also nicely curvy, he noticed through heavily lidded eyes. As a war hero, she could at least have the decency to look hard or dangerous instead of… girlish. She smiled at him slightly, and Con had the sudden uncomfortable feeling that she knew the direction of his thoughts.

"Miss Granger, thank you so much for joining us. I'm sure you're busy keeping all the first years in line. It's amazing how quickly they got lost, and we do find them in the oddest places. Just last year, one turned up asleep in Mr. Filch's cleaning supply closet." He paused for a minute, looking pensive. "Argus _did_ deny that he had anything to do with that."

The girl waved her hand dismissively and smiled at the dotty old man. "Please don't give it another though, Headmaster. I'm happy to help."

"Excllent, my dear. I knew that I could depend on you." Albus Dumbledore offered her a sherbet lemon which she declined gently. "Well, then. On to business, yes? Miss Granger, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Constantine Prince." Con tipped his head politely, his eyes and mouth remaining impassive. "Mr. Prince is a new seventh year Gryffindor, and I was hoping I could call on you to make his transition a little bit easier."

"Of course, Headmaster. It would be my pleasure. Constantine," the bushy haired girl said, smiling, "Where did you attend before Hogwarts?"

"Durmstrang," the boy said shortly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. He didn't meet her eyes, preferring to watch her obliquely through the curtain of his dark hair.

Hermione appeared taken aback by his curt tone and unfriendly manner, but merely nodded and continued speaking. "Hogwarts will be quite a change for you, but I'm sure you'll settle in admirably. I think you'll find your housemates to be quite accommodating and friendly."

"I'm here to complete my education, Miss Granger. Nothing more." He found himself distrustful of her solicitousness. Con wasn't sure where his certainty came from, but he knew that reaching out a hand in friendship most frequently resulted in having it smacked. The perky Miss Granger must have ulterior motives.

She cocked her head and regarded him in a clear-eyed manner that made him uncomfortable. Finally she nodded and answered. "We'll see."

"Excellent, children. Now that we have that settled, I'm afraid I have some rather pressing matters to discuss with Professor Slughorn. If you'll excuse me…"

* * *

Con followed the Granger chit quietly, allowing her to fill up the silence with chattering. He listened with half an ear as he carefully took in his surroundings, analyzing every doorway and darkened nook. He wasn't sure what he was concerned could be hiding, but he was in a place totally unfamiliar to him and every nerve was on edge.

"…and on your right is the potions classroom. It's such a shame you weren't here last year. Professor Snape, although a bit of a grouch, is a _much_ better professor than Slughorn." That caught his attention.

"You enjoy Potions?"

"Oh yes. Very much. After I've completed this year, I intend on applying for an apprenticeship with a Potions Master to further my studies."

He looked at her appraisingly. "I am also inclined towards potions. It has a depth and subtlety to it that isn't found in most other subjects."

She nodded excitedly, and Con found himself quickening his pace to walk next to her. "I truly am disappointed that Professor Snape is not teaching this year. Last year, he taught the seventh year Advanced Potions students how to brew the Draught of Living Death and several very difficult healing potions. Professor Slughorn is teaching us how to brew calming drafts and pepper up potion. We already covered that in fifth year."

"In a seventh year potions class? Unacceptable. How very disappointing. I hope that our other classes do not suffer in the same way."

"I think you'll be pleased." Hermione gave him a small smile. Con tilted his head, suddenly intent on the curve of her lips. It was an intimate smile; one that spoke of shared confidences and gentle teasing. For the first time that he could remember, he felt hopeful.

"I am sure you are correct, Hermione."

Upon reaching his new common room, Con discovered both his belongings and a herd of curious Gryffindors waiting for him. Hermione looked at him apologetically before introducing him to his housemates.

"…and last but not least, we have Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." Just as Con had understood who Hermione was, he knew who Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were. No one in England would be able to mistake the lightning bolt scar and round glasses, which should make obvious who the red headed behemoth at his side was. Constantine was tall, but tended towards a more wiry build. Ronald Weasley was tall and broad with enormous hands – the perfect build for a Chaser.

Con smiled coolly, and gave a half bow preferring to remain silent instead of partaking in useless chit chat and small talk. He staggered under Ron's hearty clap on the back.

"Bet you're wondering where you'll be sleeping tonight, hey?" The redhead's face was friendly and he motioned to Con's trunk and bag, casting a quick spell to make them lighter. "Well, c'mon then. Let's get you set up in the boys' dorm."

He froze. "A dormitory? We're all in one room?"

Harry smiled. "You sound surprised! Does Durmstrang have individual rooms?" The boy cocked his head to the side. "I bet that'd be nice sometimes, but it seems like it'd get lonely. I think I'd much prefer rooming with the seventh year guys though… Despite the fact that Ron snores like a banshee, Dean thrashes in his sleep, and Seamus sleepwalks." The boy laughed suddenly and nudged Ron in the ribs. "At least that's what he said happened when we caught him trying to sneak into the girls' dorm. Sneaky bastard."

Con rolled his eyes. "I assure you, I've never found having my own room to be a hardship."

A timid-looking boy stepped forward and picked up one of Con's bags. "Well, we'll do our best to make you feel comfortable here, too."

_Neville Longbottom_, he remembered from the introductions. Con nodded, before gesturing impatiently with a pale, long-fingered hand. "The dormitories?" He was eager to escape the crush of people in the common area.

Hermione Granger waved goodbye to him as he followed Neville upstairs. Con ignored her.

He was appalled when he saw five four-poster beds arranged in a half-circle around the tower room. "We all sleep right here? Together? In a row? This isn't a muggle fairy tale. We're not the twelve bloody dancing Gryffindors!" The other boys snickered at what they clearly thought was a joke.

Constantine acknowledged to himself that he was a snob, but it wasn't his standards that were getting in the way of his blithe acceptance of his current living arrangements. The idea of sleeping in the open – totally defenseless! – was causing a spot directly between his shoulder blades to itch like mad. Half panicked, he observed that the only bed that did not have mounds of clothing and quidditch supplies piled on top of it was directly in the middle of the room. It had two beds on each side of it, hemming it in, and even _worse_, the staircase leading up from the common room spilled out at the foot of it.

It was easily the least defensible bed in the entire bloody room.

He stalked over to one of the few windows. Glancing out, Con saw that there was a drop of fifteen feet before there was another roof below. From there, several other windows were accessible. Easy to escape from, hard to break into because of the fifteen foot gap. The bed closest to the window was pushed flush against two walls which meant that he'd be able to sleep with his back pressed against the cool castle stone.

Constantine didn't _want _the free bed. He wanted _this _bed. Although he was a standoffish sort, he wasn't exactly rude. Or at least, he had no intention of making enemies so early into his tenure at Hogwarts. He wasn't going to _invite_ anyone to hex him while he slept by sniping at them on their first night. Looking at the coveted bed, he saw a blanket with the Gryffindor crest on it, a cage with a fat toad, and a Rememberall.

"I'd like this bed instead," Constantine said pointing and trying to sound friendly. It felt unnatural to him, and he could tell that he'd failed to cozen his roommates who were looking at each other, taken aback. He'd sounded a touch predatory, and the smile that he'd pasted on his face had showed a distinctly feral gleam.

"Sorry, mate. That's Neville's bed. It's been his spot for as long as we've been rooming together at Hogwarts." Ron's voice was verging on flat.

Con pinched his lips together in discomfort.

_Stay calm, stay calm_.

_It's just a bed._

Except he knew it was more than that. He frantically wracked his mind for an explanation as to why it was so important to him that he not be in the middle of the room.

"That's okay, Ron! I don't mind at all." Neville said. "I was hoping to get away from Dean's thrashing, anyway." He smiled at Con, and the black-haired boy sighed in relief.

"Oi, you! If it bothered you so much, you could have cast a silencing spell!" Dean's voice was good-natured. Neville rolled his eyes and patted the other boy on the back.

In a trice, Neville and Con had switched beds.

Before turning in, the new boy pulled out his wand – a lovely, long ebony wood – and began casting wards on his bed. The first level of defense was a distraction spell. For anyone who was not aware the bed was there, their eyes would slide right over it. The next level was a repelling spell which did not allow anyone to come within five feet of it. Constantine raised his wand again, when he heard someone clear his throat.

He turned, surprised and aggravated.

Potter was standing at his elbow with sympathy in his eyes. "You won't need that here, but I understand. Did you fight in the war against Voldemort, too?"

Con shuddered suddenly. The burgeoning irritation he'd felt at the Potter brat's interruption quickly fled when the darkness in his head lashed out and engulfed him.

His memories were gone.

Dumbledore had filled in his past as best he could, but it didn't matter.

His memories were gone. Con might not have known iwho/i he was specifically, but he could feel the orderliness of his brain and his reliance upon it, and his memories were _gone_. He felt betrayed.

And relieved.

No mother's face or lover's caress resided in the dark of his mind. It was all emptiness and shadows of forgotten horrors. Flashes of dead flesh and red eyes and psychotic laughter would claw up from his belly and threaten to choke him, and it was during those moments that Constantine prayed the dark mysteries of his mind were never actually revealed.

Would it be so bad to continue living this muffled imitation of a life?

He'd thought he could start again, untainted by his past.

Judging from the faces of the boys that surrounded him, he'd already failed the first test of normality.

_What could have happened to him?_ they whispered with their pink lips, turning eyes that were too soft upon him.

They were doe eyes – gentle and naïve.

_He doesn't think anything would actually happen here, does he?_ Their voices were soft and chiding.

And Con couldn't help it. He started nodding. _Yes, it could be coming here for me. My past could show up at any time and smother all of us in its bloody sheets._

Potter sighed next to him, and when Constantine turned to look at him, Potter's eyes were old and hard – a predator's face.

And he relaxed in relief. Not completely – he wasn't a fool.

But enough so that the darkness receded and he was once again in the seventh year boys' dormitory clutching his long, ebony wand.

"Trust me, I understand." Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only Ron and Constantine could hear him. "The others… they weren't really a part of it so much. Ron and I… Ron and I cast our wards from the inside so that they don't know. They didn't see what we…" Potter trailed off, swallowing what he'd been about to say.

Con nodded and grasped the other boy's forearm in acceptance.

That night, Constantine Prince lied in his triply-fortified-from-the-inside bed and clasped his wand tightly. His eyes were clear, but his ears strained listening for any noise that broke the silence that curled attentively under the soft breathing of his dorm-mates.


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: So, here's chapter two. Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter - DarqueHart, notwritten, Alex the Anachronistic, and xineweber. Just a couple of quick things:_

_1. I made a snafu last chapter and mentioned that Ron had the perfect build for a Chaser. I just checked canon and Ron replaced Oliver Wood as Keeper. So, whoops. My bad._

_2. I have not yet made the normal declarations. This is all JK Rowling's playground. She just lets me come and swing on her swingset sometimes. No profit is to be had by me. ;)_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

It was official. Nearly all of Gryffindor house hated Constantine Prince. He'd only been at Hogwarts for a week and the only people who treated him with any courtesy were Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The rest of the house (and school) ignored him completely, and he seemed content with that. Truthfully, he probably would have been equally happy if the Golden Trio didn't speak to him either. He only replied to their queries with single syllables, never deigning to look up from the ever-present book that sat on his lap.

Hermione chewed on a lock of hair and wondered where it had all gone wrong. Con had been cool but polite the first night, engaging her in a civil discussion of Potions. Ron and Harry had come downstairs after seeing him settled and seemed hopeful that Constantine would fit in well in Gryffindor. From that point, things had gone downhill drastically.

She could pinpoint the exact moment when Con and the majority of Gryffindor had parted ways.

It wasn't the evening in the common room when he had told a shameless Lavendar and Parvati that their new perfume was reminiscent of a hippogriff in heat. Half of the females and all of the males in their house had secretly thought it amusing because Lavendar and Parvati rather needed to be knocked down a peg.

It hadn't even been the time when Dean Thomas clapped Constantine on the shoulder and found himself flipped over and held to the ground with a deadly black-haired seventh year kneeling on his back. Con had realized his mistake nearly immediately, and let him up with a quiet caution to "keep his bloody hands to himself in the future." After all, the majority of the house had played some _small_ part in the war, and Ron and Harry had quietly commented that it could wreak havoc on a bloke's nerves.

No, the defining moment had come when Constantine had attended the first Quidditch game of the season. He sat quietly in his red and gold scarf, ignoring most of the ruckus around him, preferring instead to study the players. Gryffindor was playing Slytherin, and Harry and Draco were flying elaborate serpentines over the pitch searching for the glint of sunlight off of gold. Halfway through the game, the two seekers dove through the air at the exact same moment chasing the snitch through a cloud of red and green players. Harry dove straight through with a tremendous burst of speed, trusting the other players to get out of his way. Draco followed him at a slower pace, but with an amazing show of grace in flying, he executed a precise loop that allowed him to exit the mass of players slightly closer to the snitch than Harry. Neither one emerged with the prize, but Constantine sat back looking thoughtful. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and charmed his scarf green and silver.

Yes, that was the exact moment.

There was a collective indrawn gasp from the Gryffindor stands and news of the affront spread like a virus through the ranks of the other three houses. Slytherin could be heard sniggering at the traitor in the sea of scarlet.

"Here now! What are you about?!" Seamus asked, furious.

"I'm supporting the stronger team," Constantine replied calmly, never taking his eyes off the game in front of him.

"What are you talking about? Harry's a bloody dynamo on a broomstick. You know, he was the youngest seeker in a hundred years," Dean interjected. Seamus nodded vigorously.

"Harry's got a lot of speed, but he barrels around the pitch like an elephant. Malfoy, although not as fast, is a much better flier." Con was matter-of-fact in his analysis. "And now, if you don't mind, I'm busy watching Slytherin beat the pants off our illustrious house."

Even this insult could perhaps have been overlooked and chalked up to his being a Durmstrang alum (a school roundly denounced by Hogwarts students as being full of odd birds), except…

Except just a few moments after Con put a period on the end of his conversation with Dean and Seamus, Draco Malfoy caught the snitch and ended the game decisively - with 190 points to Gryffindor's 70.

It was a beautiful maneuver. The tiny, winged ball was hovering by the side of Millicent Bulstrode's head, keeping pace with her as she beat a particularly nasty bludger away from Gregory Goyle (and coincidentally put it on a collision course with Ron Weasley). Potter saw the snitch a fraction of a second before Malfoy and leaned forward on his broom, urging it to ever greater speeds as he closed the gap between himself and Bulstrode. The platinum-haired seeker was closer, but if he sped up to outrace Harry, he'd run the risk of knocking Millicent off of her broom.

The crowd gasped in horror when they saw Malfoy streak towards Bulstrode.

"Why that no good… Slytherin!" Colin Creevey choked.

Constantine held up a finger. "Wait."

At the last moment, Draco's fingers closed around the snitch and he executed a perfect barrel roll that spun him over the top of his teammate. He skidded to a stop and held the golden ball above his head. The Slytherin stands erupted.

Con sighed with deep satisfaction, and stood. "Excellent. Very well played." He charmed his scarf back to its original colors and sauntered off while the rest of his house was still sitting in horrified silence.

Hermione felt sad for Harry and Ron. They loved quidditch an obscene amount, and it was a horrible blow to lose the first game of the season to the Slytherins. However, that being said, she rather admired Con's blithe disregard for house politics. It was a refreshing change from the blind subscription offered by the other Gryffindors.

She watched him walk away, his black school robes blowing in the wind. He reached up and tied his long, inky hair back with a ribbon, and pulled a book out of his pocket. Con strolled casually out towards the lake, and settled at the edge. Hermione admired his long, lean form as he reclined on his elbows, and she ran her fingers over her hair to smooth the wayward curls.

Suddenly, as if feeling someone's gaze upon him, his head jerked around and his black eyes captured Hermione's warm brown ones. She shivered slightly before nodding at him solemnly. He held her regard for another long moment before tipping his head in recognition.

* * *

"I don't care. Con's a bloody prat," Seamus exclaimed at dinner. "Harry, he was rooting for _Draco_."

Harry sighed and rubbed his scar absently. "So what, Seamus? I wanted to win, but I'll be the first to admit that I was not flying my best, and Draco was… well, Draco was bloody amazing today."

"Nice to hear you finally admit it, Potter. I _am_ amazing, and today I flew circles around you," Draco was using his Pureblood voice – the one that screamed 'I can trace my ancestors back to the time when we crawled out of the primordial soup' – but it was lacking the malice that had warped it before the fall of the Voldemort. Harry grimaced, but turned around to face his Slytherin counterpart.

"I wasn't talking to you, Draco and it's bad manners to butt in on a conversation. However, I have to admit it. You did fly circles around me today." His voice was dry, but humor lurked there, and I saw a smile play at the edge of his lips.

Malfoy's jaw dropped at the admission, and he temporarily seemed at a loss for words. "Yes, well… I, uh… I've just gotten a new broom – the Firebolt 2X. It's supposed to have greater maneuverability."

"I thought that looked like a new broom." Harry hesitated for a moment. "If you have the time, I'd love to take a look at it." He swallowed as if unsure why he had said that.

Draco nodded solemnly as if his suspicions had been confirmed. "Sod off, Potter. You're looney."

Harry sighed. "Still a git, I see."

Draco smirked and turned away. As he was walking back towards the Slytherin table, Con entered the Great Hall and made his way to a seat on the edge of the knot of Gryffindors. Hermione saw Malfoy give him a small salute in what she could only assume was recognition for his support on the pitch.

"Very precise flying today, Malfoy." Con made as if to continue towards his seat, but Draco waylaid him.

"Thanks, Prince. My dad bought me a new broom – best on the market… not that I need it to fly circles around the likes of _him_." Harry rolled his eyes when Draco pointed in his direction. "Prince is an old pureblood name. How is it that someone of obvious quality like you got saddled with the likes of _them_? You should be in…"

"Stop talking." Con's expression was impassive. "You don't have to, of course. It's your decision. However, the more you talk, the more you seem to embarrass yourself. Take this as a suggestion from a Prince to a Malfoy. You understand – pureblood courtesy." He continued walking and sat down next to Dean and across from Hermione.

Malfoy's face flushed a furious red, and he gritted his teeth together hard. Hermione watched his fist open and then clench tightly before he spun on his heel.

"Hmm. Watch your back with that one," she murmured to Con. He waved her concerns aside with a negligent hand.

"That one's like a snake in need of dentures. No real bite to speak of." She snorted in laughter, before covering her nose and mouth with her hand, mortified. He looked at her with surprise and smiled. No, to call it a smile would be to make more of it than it actually was. Constantine's thin lips didn't move an inch, but his eyes crinkled at the corners and warmed to a smoky grey.

"You think the Slytherins are so bloody wonderful, why don't you go sit with them?" Seamus asked rudely, leaning around Dean so that he could stare at Con.

And just like that, Con's eyes darkened to black and became icy. He pulled his book out of his pocket and opened it carefully, his fingers sliding between pages marked with a scrap of paper. "Because I'm a Gryffindor," and his voice was firm and unapologetic. "Not a Slytherin."

"Here, here," Harry replied taking a bite of his potatoes.


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: Okay, so here's today's update. After this chapter, we have some moving and some shaking. Interpret that as you will. ;) For legality's sake, I need to remind you all that despite the amazing physical similarities between us, JK Rowling and I are NOT the same person. She is the lucky female that owns Harry Potter in its entirety. She just lets me come play with her toys now and again. I do not make a penny on this work of fanfiction._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"And how are you settling in?" the headmaster asked Constantine.

"Just admirably," the boy said sarcastically, sitting poker straight in the massive puce wingback chair in the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore reached up ran his hand down his beard meditatively. "Ah, good. Good. I am happy to hear that, my boy." Con rolled his eyes. "And how are you getting along with your housemates?"

"Peachy," he replied through gritted teeth. "It's a love fest every time I enter the common room."

The headmaster eyed him with twinkling blue eyes. "Yes, I've noticed. It was wonderful seeing you display such school spirit at the last Quidditch match. You seem to be getting along with Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger, however."

The boy shrugged. "Potter is a decent enough sort. He's no fool, even though he doesn't put the effort into his schoolwork that I think he should. Weasley is a thug, but I don't wish him dead at this particular moment in time." Con narrowed his eyes. "That might change, of course."

"And Ms. Granger?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, it's just that you were so busy enumerating all of the wonderful things you loved about Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, and I'm afraid I missed what you said about Ms. Granger."

Con flushed a bit and looked away from the knowing eyes of Albus Dumbledore. The Granger chit was… tolerable. Constantine had noticed her quite a bit more, lately. He'd look up from his book and she'd be seated nearby with her legs curled under her, a fat, dusty tome taking up her entire lap. When he'd go to the library, she'd already be there with papers spread around her, quills sticking out at all angles from her hair. In the evenings, she liked to take a cup of weak tea and stare into the fireplace in the common room.

Hermione never spoke to him.

She just smiled and nodded and turned back to her work. And that was all he needed. If she'd tried to engage him in conversation, he would have snarled and rebuffed her. He would have suspected her of having ulterior motives in offering her friendship. But instead, she just sat there – a steady presence that soothed his ruffled feathers.

Hermione was the most whole of all of them. Harry and Con were both ragged emotional wounds from the war (although Harry hid it a great deal better than Con did). Ron tempered his grief and nighttime terrors by throwing himself into Quidditch and morally suspect women like Lavendar Brown. But Hermione…

Hermione was peaceful. Her emotions were clear waters. You could see the scarring and pockmarks at the bottom of the pool, but it was just a part of her landscape – the consequences of others' actions in which she claimed no part.

He'd seen the flash of old soul in her face, just as he'd recognized it in Potter's, and it made him adjust his mental barriers. Hermione and Potter, and to a lesser extent Weasley were the lone inhabitants of the sphere he dubbed "tolerable" and perhaps, on one of his more charitable days "like-minded." The rest of Hogwarts was firmly placed in the category of "useless flesh receptacles of magic."

But Hermione was the only one with whom he _enjoyed_ spending any amount of time.

The headmaster cleared his throat, and Con struggled for an answer. "I find… I find that I cannot hate her."

The white, fuzzy caterpillars that were Dumbledore's eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. "High praise, indeed."

The black-haired boy flushed, realizing that the headmaster understood far too much for his peace of mind. He shrugged one of his shoulders slightly.

"Indeed, I am quite pleased to hear it. I have a proposition for you, my boy. Professor Slughorn came to me this morning. He is working on completing some independent Potions research for Professor Snape while he is on sabbatical, and he finds that he is having difficulty meeting all of his duties." Constantine's eyes sparked in interest and he leaned forward. "You and Ms. Granger have the highest marks in class, and I daresay would have no trouble picking up a bit of extra Potions work. Am I correct in my assessment?"

Con's heart felt light. He found Slughorn's class to be soul-crushingly dull. Hermione had been correct in her assessment that first night she'd escorted him to the Gryffindor tower. The potions they were studying were elementary and failed to intellectually challenge him. But the idea of helping the professor with a research project ignited a new level of interest in him. It might actually make up for the professor's anesthetized ramblings during class. _Well, probably not._

"Professor Dumbledore, I'd be happy to help Professor Slughorn complete his project."

"Excellent. I had a feeling you might."

* * *

"…and so this will be your private lab for the rest of the year. You'll have full access to the Potions storeroom, of course. Trust me, you'll need it!" Slughorn barked a laugh. "Just make sure you keep an accurate inventory of the ingredients you use."

Constantine and Hermione looked at each other in dismay while the professor nattered on, oblivious to his students' keen disappointment.

"So, I guess that's it. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help with this. It's going to take up a good bit of your free time, I'm afraid. Here's the list of potions that Madame Pomfrey will need by next month. She'll send a new list once you two have finished this batch."

Con took the list from the professor's hand and scanned it, his heart sinking further as he read each item.

_Burn paste (10)_

_Blood-replenishing potion (5) _

_Skele-grow (5)_

_Bruise paste (15)_

_Headache potion (50)_

_Calming draft (50)_

_Deflating draft (10)_

_Fever Reducer (50)_

_Invigoration draft (10)_

_Stamina draft (10)_

…It continued on from there. With the possible exception of the Blood-Replenishing Potion, all of these were basic medicinal drafts that a fourth year could brew. And the sheer quantities that were required meant that he'd be spending a lot of time in the lab.

…_with Granger_, a small, bloody-minded voice said in the back of his head. He squashed it ruthlessly, but not before his eyes darted to Hermione. She was sucking on her lower lip in vexation, and he felt his stomach tighten when it popped free, moist and pink.

Slughorn took his leave, and the two Gryffindors found themselves alone in the lab.

"I think Dumbledore did this on purpose," she said quietly to Constantine.

"Of course he did. The bastard should have been in Slytherin.," he griped. "It looks like we are going to be working some long hours." Con ran his hand down his face. "I was really looking forward to the opportunity to do some real research."

The two stood in morose silence, and not even the fact that they had their own, private lab was enough to temper their disappointment. Hermione sank onto a stool, absently chewing a nail.

"That's a bad habit for a brewer to get into. You never know what nasty ingredient you'll have stuck under your nails." His voice was gruffer than it needed to be, but his eighteen-year-old male brain was fascinated by the way she was nibbling on her fingers. For the sake of his sanity, and for the sake of their working relationship, he hoped desperately that she would stop.

"True," she sighed, not looking at him. Hermione sat up slowly, and sucked in her breath. Her eyes darted over to Con.

"What?" he said.

"Con…"

"Hermione," he mocked her.

"Slughorn suggested that we work in shifts, right?"

He nodded, although his stomach was suddenly tied in knots. Was she not interested in working with him? Suddenly the appeal of this potions project (which was already low to begin with) dropped to zero. He turned cold black eyes on her, and she looked momentarily puzzled by his change in demeanor.

"Well, if we do that, the lab will never be free. One of us will always be brewing here, and we couldn't do any of our own research. But what if we double up? We can get the potions done in half the time, and use the other half of the time to do our own, independent research!" As she spoke, she grew excited. Her face flushed, and her eyes glittered with hope.

"Hermione, that's… that's a wonderful idea. That is the best idea I have heard in a very long time. You are a brilliant, little witch!" he exclaimed, suddenly caught up in her enthusiasm. "We'll start with the potions that take the longest to brew, and then once we get those up and running, we'll divide the list in two. We'll be ready to start our own research in two weeks at the latest."

"This might actually be a good thing, Con. Our own research!"

"What shall we study?" he asked, chewing on his lip. He tucked a piece of his long hair behind his ear and studied the witch sitting next to him. Her face was absolutely ablaze with enthusiasm. Her golden brown curls bounced around her face, and Constantine was faced with the sudden, inexplicable desire to grab a lock of her hair and pull it straight to see how long it was and whether it would bounce back when released.

"I've got several ideas, actually – one of which is a potential treatment for dementia, or maybe even Alzheimer's based on a variant of the Wit-Sharpening Potion. I thought we could adapt the potion by adding St. John's Wort and Ginkgo Biloba when we are simmering the armadillo bile, and…" Hermione paused a moment when she saw Con staring at her oddly. "Whatever is it?"

Constantine shook himself out of his reverie. He'd been staring at the girl like an idiot, and probably had an appallingly fatuous expression plastered on his face. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a fuzzy, warm, very un-Constantine-like feeling, and examining it, the boy was surprised to discover that he was… _fond_ of Hermione Granger.

Hesitating, he reached out a hand to touch a lock of her hair.

"In the spirit of inquiry…" His voice was gruff as he slid his fingers down the curl delicately. Straightened, the curl extended to her mid-back. He swallowed, his throat strangely tight. When he relaxed his grip, the curl bounced back immediately and wrapped over his hand like a caress. "Fascinating," he whispered, blushing. He extricated his hand from her hair.

Hermione's lips were parted slightly, and she watched him with wide, curious eyes.

"I'm looking forward to working with you, Hermione. There is clearly a reason why you are top of our class." Con smiled and leaned forward. "But I am going to try and give you a run for your money this year."

She accepted his proffered hand and only shivered slightly when his thumb ran gently over her knuckles.

* * *

_A/N: Please leave a review. Like it, hate it, love it. Drop me a note._

* * *


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It was well after curfew and most of the castle residents were long since asleep in their snug, four-poster beds, but in the Gryffindor common room, the Golden Trio sat in a tight knot, their knees touching.

"Harry, it's okay. Nothing happened," Hermione said, gently chafing his wrists.

"But I was so close, 'Mione. I almost… Neville could have been seriously hurt. I should have been more careful!" His voice was raw.

"Look mate, Neville's fine. Let's just take this for a wake-up call. If you're studying in bed, just make sure to cast your wards as if you were turning in for the night." Ron paused a moment and then grinned. "Or, you could take a page out of my book and just not study any more."

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione's voice was tight. "Of course he must continue to study. NEWTs are this year. Honestly, if you haven't anything useful to add, keep your suggestions to yourself."

"Cripes, 'Mione. I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit. Bit swotty tonight, aren't you?"

She touched her palm to her right eye and rubbed lightly. "Maybe so. Sorry. I haven't slept very well lately myself."

Silence settled upon the three of them as they sat staring at the crackling fire. Hermione summoned them a pot of tea and played Mother, stirring a teaspoon of sugar in for Ron and a generous serving of milk for herself and Harry. The soft clinking of china was a soothing noise to their British ears, and slowly the three relaxed.

Constantine descended into the common room clad in a pair of black pajama pants and a grey waffle-textured tee shirt. Hermione's eyes slid over his lean form with appreciation. Her mouth went slightly dry at the sight of the lovely pale skin of his arms, and the rakish looking copper cuff that covered his left wrist. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked exhausted.

She grimaced and looked away, feeling contrite. Her best friend was a hemorrhaging ball of guilt, Con looked like death, and all she could do was sit there ogling a lovely set of wiry muscles. She turned back to Harry and warmed his tea.

He gave her a watery smile.

"I saw what happened up there," Constantine said quietly.

Harry's jaw clenched, and he sucked in a lungful of air through his nose. "It was an accident. I was dreaming… about Ginny, and Neville tried to wake me up when I started screaming. I didn't even think… I just reacted and before I knew it…"

"Longbottom was on the ground with the tip of your wand pressing into his throat." Con pointed to his jugular. "Just here." He moved closer and sat in the chair that was nearest to the couch that held the Golden Trio. "You don't have to explain. Like I said, I saw what happened. Longbottom is wiser for it, but I have a feeling that you are probably taking all the blame for your greedy self."

Ron cast Constantine a scathing glance, but Hermione placed a restraining hand upon his wrist.

"Dream often?" the raven-eyed boy said to Harry.

Harry nodded.

"I won't insult you by asking if you've thought about taking Dreamless Sleep. I'd imagine that, like myself, you and Hermione are probably incapable of using that deliciously narcotic potion any longer." He smirked and turned to eye Ron. "I bet Weasely here could take it, though. I've noticed he's taken to sleeping elsewhere. His enthusiastic exertions with the opposite sex are probably suppressing his dreams quite thoroughly."

Ron looked irritated. "You really are a pig, Con."

The smirk never left his face. He just raised one shoulder slightly as if to say, _Yes. Whatever shall you do about it? _"I'd wager I'm right, though."

"I just wish I could sleep through one night without dreaming of her. Those are the worst. The dreams of battle and death and thick, choking blood are nothing compared to the dreams of Ginny." A tear slid down Harry's face, and Hermione rubbed her broken friend's back while he breathed in deep, shuddering breaths.

"I can never remember my dreams," Con whispered. "I feel as if I could just put a name or a face to whatever was tormenting me, I could defeat it, but I can't." He sat back and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I woke up with blood in my mouth again yesterday morning, and I haven't been able to bring myself to go back to sleep since then."

"You've been awake for 36 hours?" Harry asked.

Con nodded, his eyes shadowed. They were silent for a few moments, and Hermione, needing to remain busy, conjured a cup of tea for Con as well, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar in briskly. He smiled a bit, and looked pleased that she knew how he took his tea.

"She screams in my dreams," Harry said finally. "I never relive the last battle when I sleep. It's breaking into Malfoy Manor that haunts me. That night when Ron, Remus, and I snuck in to that Pureblooded prick's dungeons to spring Ginny and Hermione."

"Well, I think I'll toddle along and find Lav," Ron said, standing up like a shot and running his sweaty palms over his shirt.

"Right. Night, Ron. See you bright and early for Transfigurations." Harry's voice was strained, with a terrible false cheerfulness that set Hermione's teeth on edge.

When he was gone, Hermione sighed. "I worry about him."

"Don't begrudge him his coping mechanisms, 'Mione."

She looked at Harry, surprised. "Never! I just worry about the day that no longer works, and he's suddenly forced to deal with years of suppression." Hermione turned to Con. "Ginny was Ron's sister and Harry's love. She died there in the shadows of Malfoy Manor. I'd have died too, if not for Draco. It was the end of sixth year. Little Theodore Nott aspired to be a big, bad Death Eater, and we were the price."

Hermione set her tea down abruptly, and walked over to stoke the fire.

"It's getting a bit chilly in here, isn't it? So, dear Teddy stupefied us and carried us out into the Forbidden Forest where his good friends Crabbe and Goyle were waiting with a portkey to Malfoy Manor.

Ginny and I were there for three weeks with Lucius. It would have been some small comfort if we were at least kept together, but Malfoy, Sr. is an expert in breaking people – it was, after all, practically in his Death Eater job description – and he knew how much worse the solitude would be. Three weeks and then Draco came home."

Con watched her with an impassive expression. The firelight threw shadows on his face, causing his features to stand out in stark relief.

"Draco is a prat. I don't think we can argue about that, but he's not a monster. He found us in the dungeons and sent Ron and Harry a message through Dumbledore. Our rations were meager, and we were slowly starving, but he slipped us food as often as he could while we waited to be rescued. He gave us hope." Hermione drew a shaky breath.

Harry continued the narrative. "Ron and I had been out of our bloody minds with worry. When Dumbledore told us that he had gotten a message as to their whereabouts, we were ecstatic." His faced twisted with anger that was still fresh. "But that bastard had sat on the news for a week while he agonized over whether we could trust Draco. If it was a trap. Draco had included a portkey that would take us directly into the dungeons, and the key to their cells."

"What caused Dumbledore to change his mind and let you attempt to mount a rescue? It _does_ seem suspicious." Con's voice was as gentle as Hermione had ever heard it.

"He'd tried to scan Draco in his foe-glass and couldn't get his image to appear." The girl's arms were wrapped tightly around her torso as she regurgitated the stuff of her nightmares.

"Remus Lupin, Ron, and I portkeyed in. Immediately, we knew something was wrong. Ginny was screaming so loudly. Hermione's cell was right on our way, and we got her first. Gods, she looked awful – bloody and bruised and so skinny that I was worried she'd break when Remus picked her up. The entire time, Ginny kept screaming, but her voice was getting softer, weaker. By the time we got to her cell, she was quiet. I looked in the slot, and Ginny was… she… her blood was all over the floor… her clothes were..." Harry choked and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. "There was a ring of five Death Eaters standing around her and one of them turned to Lucius and said, 'You always break them when it's your turn!'" Harry was panting from the effort of recounting the story. He gritted his teeth and his voice turned business-like "So, she was dead by the time we got there. We took Hermione and portkeyed out. The war was over within three months. You know, I Avada'ed Voldemort in the back? They didn't talk about that in the papers, but that's what I did. I'd do it again, too." Harry laughed bitterly. "So, why do you have nightmares Constantine Prince? What part did you have to play?" Harry's voice sounded almost accusatory.

Hermione could see Con debating whether or not he was going to respond to the question. His eyes were an almost fathomless black, and his mouth was tight.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

Con crossed his arms and scowled. "My memories are gone. I have absolutely no recollection of who I am or what I did. All I know is what Dumbledore told me. My name is Constantine Prince and I am a transfer student from Durmstrang. I have no family left, no money, no familiar. All I was left with are vague impressions. I remember the serenity of Potions. I remember… a girl I knew once. Just a hint of her face in the darkness in my mind. I remember horrible, screeching laughter, and the need to always sit with my back to a wall. And the rest is just… gone. At night, I feel like the blank spots in my brain are trying to swallow me whole."

Constantine shook himself like a dog. Hermione couldn't help but pity the surly boy with the tortured, sloe eyes. Carefully, she reached out and touched his hand. She stroked her cool, soft fingers over Con's palm and he looked up startled, before snatching his hand back into his lap where hers could not follow.

"Enough of this. I don't need an Agony Aunt, Granger. I'm off to get some shut eye." He stalked away, his posture rigid. At the entrance to the staircase, he paused and said, "I don't know when, but one day I'm sure we'll all sleep the night through." Constantine turned back to face Harry and Hermione. "Potter, I changed your wards so that they automatically activate when you fall asleep."

"Thanks, Con." The boy nodded and left silently.

Harry and Hermione sank back onto the couch, and Harry lifted his arm so that his friend could snuggle into his side. "I hope he's right, 'Mione."

"Me too, Harry."

She dozed lightly against his side until Harry stirred and said, "Talking about it kind of helped, I think. He just listened."

"I think that's what we both needed. I'm going to turn in, love."

She leaned forward and kissed her friend on the forehead.

"Thanks for coming for me, Harry."

"Anytime, 'Mione."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Constantine watched Harry Potter watch Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy reclined on a bench overlooking the Hogwarts Lake. He was a picture of ease, with his long arms thrown over the back of the bench, and a letter dangling from one hand. If he hadn't been looking carefully, Con would have missed that Draco's shoulders were shaking slightly.

Potter wasn't a casual observer either, and he could clearly see Draco's shoulders as the boy sobbed. His face was a study in anger and pity, and he was shifting his weight back and forth in indecision. Con could practically see the wheels turning in Harry's head as the Boy-Who-Was-Nosy debated approaching his long-time nemesis. Draco lifted a languid hand and ran it over his face, wiping the tears from it.

Harry walked forward and sat next to the Slytherin.

The two ignored each other for several moments, but Draco's posture had changed, his shoulders tensing and his back straightening. He donned the Malfoy arrogance without thinking, and even sitting there snot-nosed and red-eyed, he glared at Potter with disdain. Harry studied the tips of his boots, his arms crossed over his chest.

Without looking at Draco, Potter opened his mouth and said something too quiet for Constantine to overhear. Harry's face was gentle, but whatever it was caused an electric reaction in Malfoy. He shot to his feet and shook a finger in Potter's face, yelling something indistinguishable over the wind that was whipping the lake. Con shivered slightly and pulled his cloak closer around his body. Fall had settled in with all the beauty and frigidness that Scotland could provide.

Harry raised his hands in a defensive gesture before reaching out to try and touch Draco's arm. Malfoy batted his hand away and stalked back towards the castle.

The defeated Gryffindor sank back onto the bench and spread out, unconsciously imitating Draco's indolent sprawl. He ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair and pressed his thumbs into the soft fleshy spot near the bridge of his nose as if to relieve a tension headache.

Con ambled over and sat down on the bench next to Potter, pretending interest in his book _Unusual Animagi of Europe: From Dragonflies to Blast-Ended Skrewts_. He licked a finger precisely and turned a page.

"Saw that, did you?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about, Potter." He cleared his throat. "Did you know that Parzival Wimbley of Shropshire discovered his Animagus form on Christmas Day in 1927? He became an iguana, got trapped outside in a snowstorm, and froze to death. Moronic pustule didn't even have anyone spotting his first transformation. It's probably better off that he was removed from the gene pool." Con paused a moment reading further. "Oh, no. I was wrong. He had two children before he kicked the bucket – a boy and a girl. Pity. Could you be a descendent, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure what I was trying accomplish just then. I knew the right thing to do would be to leave him alone," Harry seethed.

Con snorted. "This fellow turned into a beetle, was captured by some Muggle child and pinned to a board for a science project. I'd imagine it was quite traumatic when the wizard finally died and reverted back to his natural form." He crossed his legs and flipped through the book randomly. "I haven't come across any ridiculous Animagus stories involving witches. What do you think, Potter? Do you think witches just have better sense than wizards about some things?" His crafty eyes slid over towards Potter. "You'd never catch Hermione in such a ridiculous position, would you?"

Harry removed his glasses and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. His face was blotchy and tired-looking. "I'm just… so tired of fighting, Con. Isn't it ever going to be over? We won. Why doesn't it feel like it? Draco proved he isn't like his father. Why do we still hate each other?"

Con snapped his book shut in irritation. "_You_," he said in irritation. "_You_ lack subtlety to a degree I cannot fathom. How on earth did you kill Voldemort? Did you bludgeon him to death with your bloody blunt wit?"

Potter stared at him, confused.

Constantine growled and rolled his eyes. "What do you want from Draco, anyway? Absolution? That poor sod can't give it to you. He's a mess!"

"I don't know what I want. I want to feel like it was worth it. That people can be redeemed."

"Potter, of course it was worth it. Look at Hermione. She's a Muggleborn. If Voldemort had won, where would she be today? Get your head on straight."

Harry sighed. "I know. Of course you're right. So why don't I feel it?"

"Look, mate. The point I was trying to make with my brilliant Animagus reference was that Hermione is the most whole of all of us. She went through hell, but she's not looking to find someone to bandage her wounds for her. She's finding a purpose – something about this world that still speaks to her and gives her hope. You know she wants to be the first Potions mistress Hogwarts has graduated in fifty years?"

Harry smirked at Constantine. "So that's the way the wind is blowing, hey?"

"Shut your mouth, you knuckle-dragging yokel."

Harry laughed softly. "That one was pretty good. I wish I could come up with an insult half as clever on the fly."

"Yes, well. You're clearly an idiot, so I wouldn't hold your breath as it will only damage your paltry wit further."

"So, I should find something that gives me a sense of purpose."

"Are we still talking about this?"

* * *

Hermione smelled lovely, like apple blossom shampoo.

Constantine breathed in appreciatively but disguised it as a disdainful sniff.

She looked up at him with wide, chocolate eyes. "What? Not interested in the Goblin Wars?"

"No, the Goblin Wars are terribly interesting. I just think Binns spends far too much time on them, and he hasn't changed his textbooks in 80 years. I mean, look. This book still refers to first Goblin chieftain as 'Slashfang the Upright.' It's been fifty years since they proved that Slashfang killed his father and ate two of his brothers in order to inherit the chieftaincy. Ridiculous." His voice was sulky.

Hermione smiled at his outburst, and he caught his breath at her loveliness.

"That's _Professor_ Binns, Con."

He harrumphed and turned back to his text, and had to bite his cheek to prevent himself from smirking.

He and Hermione were sprawled on a blanket in one of Hogwarts' many courtyards. They'd been reading together for over an hour, and Constantine couldn't help but reflect what good company she was. Her hair also looked particularly pretty in the sunlight, he noted. She tucked a strand behind her ear and caught him looking at her.

"What?" she asked him.

"Nothing," he shrugged negligently.

A flash of gold suddenly drew his attention. Con sucked in his breath, discomfited when he saw a tall, patrician man with platinum hair walking up one of the open-air pathways towards their garden. His robes were tailored to perfection and he carried a cane topped by a silver snake. He had never seen this man before in his life, and yet every nerve in his body was rioting in alarm and warning him to be wary.

"Hermione. Who is that?"

She hissed softly. "Lucius Malfoy." He felt her hands wrap tightly around his bicep. "Let's go, Con. Please, I don't want to see him."

_Lucius Malfoy. _Red, hot rage pooled in his mouth, and he felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a feral snarl. _This man hurt Hermione. This man hurt Harry and Ron by destroying something precious to them. But most of all, he HURT Hermione_. Con drew his wand and sat up, prepared to confront his enemy, but the warmth of Hermione's small hands curled around his arm was enough to make him stop dead in his tracks.

She looked up at him, her face pinched and pale. "Please, Con. Let's just go." He exhaled sharply and covered her fingers with his and nodded.

"Leave the books. We'll come back for them." He reached out to pull her to her feet, and cursed softly when he saw the blond man catch sight of them and alter his course to intercept them. Con did not release her hand, and quickened his pace.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. The only way out of here is to walk by him. Just stay with me, okay?"

She stared at him with angry, sullen eyes, but nodded, gripping his hand more tightly.

Lucius smiled and waved jauntily at the girl in his path. Sunlight gleamed on his golden head, and he looked for all the world like a gentleman on an afternoon stroll.

"Ms. Granger! What a pleasant surprise." The man's voice was urbane and dripping with solicitousness. "You look good enough to eat! Much better than the last time I saw you." His voice dropped into a menacing whisper before rising once more into his normal register. "And I see you have a young man. How charming."

Lucius reached forward as if to take and kiss her palm, but Con pushed Hermione behind him and smacked the Pureblood's hand out of the way.

"Keep your scabrous, repellent hands to yourself," Constantine said, his voice raw and throbbing.

"How dare you touch me, you insolent pup!" Con could see that Lucius was shocked at his temerity and he narrowed his black eyes, letting his hatred burn through. The aristocrat drew in his breath, taken aback by the cold fury in the black eyes of the boy. Lucius cocked his head and took in Con's pale skin, black hair and irises, and the ebony wand clutched in his fist. "I say," he murmured in a totally different tone of voice. "Have we met before?"

"I highly doubt it. However, you had best hope that we never meet again, you inbred ball sack of decaying genetics. I know _who_ you are, and moreover, I know _what_ you are, and it would be my pleasure to _end_ you."

Lucius looked more puzzled than offended and stood staring at him for a number of seconds. He sucked in his breath suddenly as if struck by a terrible realization, but Con could see the older man dismiss it immediately.

"Father!" All three heads turned to see Draco striding up the path towards them. "Dumbledore is about to leave to meet with the Minister of Magic. If you want to speak with him, you'll have to catch him before he gets to the gates and Apparates." Draco's eyes flicked back and forth between his father and Hermione, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Lucius smiled toothily at them, and turned on his heel and began walking back towards the entrance to Hogwarts. At the edge of the garden, he turned back to face Con and Hermione. "Ms. Granger, I'd love to catch up with you. Perhaps we'll run into each other again soon."

And then he was gone.

Con whirled around and took Hermione by the arms. "Are you okay?"

"I can't believe that bastard weaseled out of jail again!" she hissed. "Six months in a Dementor-free Azkaban. It's a bloody slap on the wrist. I got on the stand in front of the entire bloody Wizengamot and testified about my time as a _guest_ at Malfoy Manor, and his money greased the wheels so that he only spent SIX SODDING MONTHS behind bars." Hermione knocked Con's hands off her shoulders and paced back and forth. "I won't be afraid of him any longer, Constantine Prince. If he comes near me again, I'll hex him first and ask questions never."

The dark-haired boy watched Hermione flex her fists and stalk through the garden like a Valkyrie, and his heart swelled for her and her ridiculous bravery.

"That sounds like the wisest course of action. I'm sure Harry and Ron would love to help as well." Con cleared his throat and studied the play of light over the arched entranceway to the courtyard. "I am, of course, also at your disposal for such an encounter – should it come to pass."

Hermione blinked and then smiled a small, secretive smile. She reached forward and touched him on the cheek. "Thank you, Constantine."


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: Here you go. To apologize for accidentally alerting you twice to my last chapter and for that horrid "under construction" sign for chapter five, I'm giving you an extra chapter tonight._

_I'm not JK Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter. I do this for my own edification and make no money off of my acts of terrifying fanfiction._

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"Ms. Granger! Those shrivelfigs were to be mashed, not eviscerated and beaten to death!" The voice was both silky and sharp.

Hermione whirled around, her heart in her throat, the mortar and pestle still clutched in her hands. She shrieked when she saw who was standing in the doorway to her private lab.

"Constantine, you arse!" Hermione smacked him on the shoulder and he smirked. "You scared the life out of me. I thought you were Professor Snape for a moment. You sounded just like him."

"My statement still stands no matter who I am. Those must be truly villainous shrivelfigs to have you so upset." His voice was teasing, but his eyes were enquiring.

After that night in the Gryffindor common room and the day when Constantine had defended her from Lucius Malfoy, the dynamic had changed between Con and Hermione. The air that surrounded them had warmed from cool disinterest to the electric flush of first friendship. He sought her out more, frequently sitting next to her and pulling his book out with a sigh of contentment. The first time she turned to him and tucked her freezing toes under his leg, he gave her such a look of long-suffering patience that she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. That sat together in the library, and when she'd rummage through her bag trying to find a quill (_where had they all gotten to??_) he'd smirk and refrain from pointing out that she had at least six shoved into her messy bun.

They still didn't talk much.

In fact, to the uninformed eye, the only thing that appeared to have changed was their proximity. At any given time, they were about five feet closer together than they would have been just two weeks ago. If she was sitting on the common room couch, so was he. If she was in the Great Hall, he was sitting across from her. If one was missing, so was the other.

Hermione wondered if Constantine was courting her.

She felt a bit of anxiety at the thought. Aside from Viktor Krum in her fourth year, she'd never had a beau and was worried that she might be misinterpreting Con's actions. He was still withdrawn and frequently surly – even with her, but it was as if there was a silver cord stretched taught between the two of them. It tugged at a spot just below her belly button when he was near to her, and communicated a velvet, febrile tension that caused the hairs at the nape of her neck to rise. She loved it. Hermione hoped that she was not wrong.

Of course, that's what she had been thinking of when Con entered the room and caught her committing figicide on her potions ingredients.

"Hermione?" he asked again.

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the research. Lost in my own head for a bit there." She sighed and looked at the shrivelfigs in her mortar. They were nearly paste. "I don't suppose these are useable any longer." She Vanished the contents with a flick of her wand.

Con slid behind her to get to his Potions station, and began carefully setting out his cauldron and heat source. "I was thinking about it as well. What you said last week about the Ginkgo Biloba being too fragile to resist the armadillo bile made sense. The acidity of the base would cause the memory-enhancing elements of the herb to degrade. We'd have to add twice as much to get the same potency, but it'd throw off the arithmantic principles of the whole Potion – it'd go from a positively charged integer of seven, to a neutral multiple of three. We'd have to rebalance it from the very first step."

Hermione's mouth fell open slightly, but she motioned for him to continue. She loved how clever he was.

"So, we have two choices as I see it. Either we go back to square one and essentially recreate the Wit-Sharpening Potion to align with our Arithmantic calculations – an absolute waste of our time, or we find a substitute for the Gingko." His eyes gleamed, and a smile was playing around the corners of his mouth.

Sighing, she tilted her head and rested her cheek on her palm. "I can tell by your expression that you think you've already found the solution."

He grinned, and Hermione was enthralled. It was the first real smile on him that she'd ever seen, and it _transformed_ his face. Con's eyes were unshadowed, and dear lord, was that a dimple? "I don't _think_. I _know_, my dear." He began pacing in the aisle between their work stations and the cabinets where their finished potions were stored. "Have you ever read _The_ _Cunning Potions of Edvard Hesselton_?"

"Yes, last year. But Con, Edvard Hesselton never worked on any memory-modifying potions. In fact, he specialized in - "

"Defensive Potions, I know! But don't you remember? Hermione, use that abnormally well-developed brain of yours for more than vomiting back facts. Think, girl! What about the Cloaking Potion?"

"Con, nobody ever did anything with the Cloaking Potion because it was so expensive to make, and only shields against level one curses and jinxes. I mean, who needs a shield against the Jelly-Legs Jinx anyway? Not only that, the side effects are…" She trailed off.

The boy stopped pacing and just watched her with his gleaming, dark eyes, waiting for her to connect the dots.

"The side effects were nausea, chills, and eidetic memory." Her eyes flashed to his and they stared at each other for a moment in total harmony. "Which ingredient was it? Con, which one caused the drinker to have a photographic memory?" Her hands reached forward and wrapped around the lapels of his school robes as if prepared to shake the information out of him.

He leaned forward ever so slowly and brought his lips to her ear. "The water jenett," he whispered, forming the words slowly. Hermione shuddered as the information blossomed in her mind like a lotus and his lips brushed her ear and his hot breath washed down her neck. In that moment, she _knew_.

She knew he was the smartest boy she'd ever met and she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything.

"Oh, gods," she choked. His cheek was pressed against hers, and she could feel the first faint scratch of stubble. It took a supreme act of will to unclench her fists from his robes and step away. "The water jenett."

Con's face was intense as he nodded, and he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "We're going to need to talk to Professor Sprout as soon as possible. By the time we brew enough batches of the base, it'll be time to start brewing for Madame Pomfrey again which means _another_ two weeks before we can get back to our independent research. That gives us one month to grow enough jenetts with which to experiment."

* * *

Professor Sprout listened to their explanations with good grace. They were standing in the middle of a patch of immature mandrakes that she was preparing for her second year classes. The teacher wiped her forehead with the back of a dirty hand leaving a smudge of mud down her face.

"Water jenetts? I've never actually grown any myself… Honestly, I'm not sure why you'd want to. They're certainly not used in many potions because of the nausea and chills and they're no good to look at because they live below the water surface." Pomona Sprout scratched her elbow absentmindedly. "Jenetts are hardy, though. Not _difficult_ to grow, just a pain in the…" She seemed to realize she was still talking to students at the last minute. "They can't be exposed to air at all, and they're very finicky about the plants and animals with which they share their ponds."

"Do you have the facilities that would allow us to cultivate jenetts?" Hermione asked her politely.

"Not in the main Herbology department. As a general rule, we don't encourage the cultivation of water plants because of liability. First years _will_ get themselves in trouble if at all possible, won't they?" She smiled and winked at Hermione, and the Head Girl blushed remembering all the trouble she, Harry, and Ron had caused in their search for the Philosopher's Stone. "However, there's an abandoned greenhouse that does have the facilities for a jenett pond if you feel up to cleaning it out and cultivating it yourself."

"Oh, _yes_. Thank you so much, Professor Sprout." Hermione paused a moment, and glanced back at Constantine who stood at her back like her shadow. "Professor Sprout, I'm afraid we don't have access to the same Herbology suppliers that you do. If we pay you the money up front, could you owl order us two dozen seedlings?"

"Of course, dear." She turned and shouted over her shoulder. "Neville!" The sweet-natured Gryffindor poked his head around the row of Mandrakes. He walked towards the professor, wiping his hands on a rag that he then shoved into his back pocket. "Can you show Mr. Prince and Ms. Granger to Greenhouse 11?"

Neville's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, but he nodded and smiled at Hermione. She felt a rush of affection for her gentle housemate. He was awkward and a menace in Potions, but the love he lavished on his plants was nearly glowing on his face. "This way, you two."

The three walked in silence until they were nearly at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There, growing like a baobab in the desert, was a small, dilapidated greenhouse with half of the glass roof tiles broken and shattered on the floor. There was just enough room for one medium-sized water habitat, three meters wide by six meters long. It hadn't been used in ages and was dried out and covered in sludge and debris. Hermione groaned at the sheer amount of back-breaking labor it was going to require to get this project up and running.

"Well, then. Let's get to it," Con said, and reached forward with his wand towards the pool.

"Wait!" Neville shouted.

Con stared at him with an irritated expression on his face.

Neville looked sheepish. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop on your conversation with Professor Sprout, but I heard you saying you wanted to cultivate water jenetts?"

Constantine just stared at the Gryffindor, stony-faced.

"Well," Neville said, gamely pushing on in the face of Con's disapproval. "Well, you see, water jenetts are in the lotus family, and they all absolutely detest magic. If you want to grow them successfully, you're going to have to clean the pool by hand." The smile he gave to Constantine was a little sickly. It seemed to beg, _please don't shoot the messenger_.

The raven-haired boy blinked for a moment and lowered his wand. "That could have set us back ages." He reached forward and squeezed the other boy on the shoulder. "Thank you, Neville."

Hermione was pleased at the gesture, despite the fact that she had seen that Con had squeezed too hard and Neville blanched under the pressure.

"Well, boys? Shall we get to work?"

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it? Review it and let me know!_


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Constantine flipped his quill in his fingers as he listened to Professor Vector lecture. She was waxing poetic about the Conjugus Principle of Arithmancy whereby a prime number could be further broken down by the inclusion of external impetus in an equation, but he listened with only half an ear.

Draco Malfoy's eyes were glued to his back, and it was making him unbearably twitchy. From the start of the shared Gryffindor/Slytherin lesson, Con had done his best to ignore the prat, but he was finding it difficult. His nerves were tiny animals on creeping feet that snuck over his spine, and he had to physically restrain himself from turning to glare at his classmate.

Malfoy was an unknown quantity and it sat uneasily with Con. He didn't trust anyone whose motivations he didn't understand. Most people were disappointingly one-dimensional with simple, caveman desires of food, sex, or status. Con was able to pick them out of the crowd easily like telling cows apart from wild dogs. It was their bovine eyes. Goyle, Crabbe, Creevey… _Longbottom_. Con's lip curled.

There were far fewer wild dogs in the school, but the black-haired boy was infinitely more concerned by them. Malfoy, with his sharp, icy gaze was definitely a predator. So were Potter, Weasley, and Hermione, of course, although he trusted that their motivations were, for the most part, benign or even altruistic. With surprise, Con decided he had to classify McGonagall and Dumbledore as people with suspect motivations as well. The Transfigurations professor had taken to watching him – her green eyes like marbles. He imagined that if they fell out of her head, they'd clink when they hit the ground.

So what were Draco's motivations? What did he want and how did Con fit into his plans? He was a vocal proponent of Pureblooded supremacy and idolized his father. He reveled in his wealth and despised the poor. Con was fairly certain that he was a marked Death Eater or he had at least attended several Dark Revels.

And yet…

Yet he had sent word to his arch-enemy when his father had kidnapped a Blood traitor and a Mudblood. He still verbally sparred with Potter, but there didn't seem to be any vitriol in it, and he was positively polite to Granger.

If Con was to _wager_, he'd hazard that Draco believed every word of his Pureblood rhetoric, but didn't like the bloodshed that came with Voldemort's agenda. Unfortunately, Constantine didn't believe in games of chance and so instead of dismissing his fears, he waited for his moment to corner the Pureblood and find out just what he was planning.

When Professor Vector called for her students to pair up to work on five equations in class, he was completely unsurprised when Draco moved to the seat next to him. He gave Hermione an apologetic smile and she shrugged, moving to partner Seamus Finnegan. His mouth tightened a bit, before he turned to face the Slytherin at his side.

"Malfoy! Have you come to dazzle me with more material goods your father has purchased for you? I swear, I still haven't recovered from when I saw the fabulous earrings he sent you!"

"Those were a gift for Pansy, idiot."

"Of course. How silly of me. So, what brings you to the seedier section of the Arithmancy classroom?"

"Look, Prince. Shut the hell up. I need to talk to you without making it obvious to the rest of Slytherin that I sought you out." Draco's hands moved with dry, restless whispers against his robes. Con was reminded of a bird's wings flapping in vain to escape a closed cage.

"Oh, really. This isn't obvious? That you chose to partner with _me_, a Gryffindor Blood Traitor, and not that lovely piece of tat over there?" Con jerked his thumb towards Padma Patil who was watching Draco through heavy-lidded eyes. When she saw that she had his attention, she winked and blew him a kiss.

Draco smirked and held up eight fingers, indicating what time she should come to his room.

"Please! Don't try and out-Slytherin a Slytherin. I might want to sleep with Padma, but she's an idiot. I'd end up doing all of the Arithmancy homework _and_ answering her moronic questions. Last time I partnered with her in Vector's class, she asked me if she could use math to predict what the hot color for next season's robes will be." Malfoy's voice was dry. "You, on the other hand, are a genius and I will have to do very little work to get a good grade. It's a basic sort of cunning that any _Slytherin_ would understand."

If Con had been sitting next to anyone other than Draco, he would have laughed. As it was, he simply stared at him stone-faced. He had to admit that he was impressed with the little shite.

"So, what did you need to talk about so desperately that it had you pining for my company?"

Draco's mouth pinched sharply, and he looked uncomfortable. For a moment, he concentrated on the equations in front of him, scratching a few numbers onto the page. Constantine glanced down at his solutions. They were very wrong. "Look, I think you're a total git, and I hate your guts."

"That hurts my feelings!"

"Shut your bloody yap for just a minute, for God's sake. Merlin, you are a probably the most annoying person I've ever… Look, mate. I don't know who you are but you got up my father's nose and he wants me to find out everything I can about you."

Con responded to Draco by raising an eyebrow. It was a look designed to intimidate. It said, _I've listened to what you've said and I am not impressed. Have you considered adding visuals to your presentation?_

Malfoy snorted. "My godfather patented that look, and yours is just a weak imitation of it."

The patrician-looking Slytherin underwent a drastic transformation. The Malfoy arrogance suddenly shattered, and Con caught a glimpse of the fragile, brittle boy that hid beneath it. His hands shook as they passed over his face and dragged twin sheens of moisture over his cheeks. "Aw, _shite_," Draco said, shocked at the tears he'd shed. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Uncomfortable, Con looked down at the worksheet in front of him and solved several while he waited for Draco to compose himself.

"I don't care what you're thinking right now. I really don't." The Slytherin cleared his throat firmly and once more met the other boy's eyes. "I know the tripe that Potter has been feeding you about me, but I'm not a monster. I need to ask you something. Are you related to Severus Snape? My father wants to know. Something about you struck him as _familiar_, and he practically choked on his own tongue when he heard your name was Constantine _Prince_. Think about your answer very carefully."

The black-haired boy narrowed his eyes to glittering black slits. "To the best of my knowledge, I am not. However, I will be sure to enquire when the professor returns from sabbatical." Con knew that Snape had been Dumbledore's spy amongst the Death Eaters for over twenty years. To claim kinship with him would be foolhardy. And indeed, he didn't think he was related. Dumbledore would surely have told him.

"Snape won't be returning to Hogwarts." Malfoy looked at his slender fingers splayed out on the desk. His jaw was tightly clenched. "My father has informed me via Owl Post that he's taken care of my godfather. He was a traitor to the Pureblood cause, after all."

Silence descended upon them, as stifling and claustrophobic as being wandless in a group of strangers. Con tapped his fingers uneasily on his thigh.

"Pureblood Vendetta, then? That's why your father wants to know?"

Draco nodded, his mouth an uncertain line. "My godfather was already the last of his father's nasty, muggle line, and the majority of the Princes died out during Voldemort's first rise – either killed for opposing him or killed fighting for him. Father wants to wipe any trace of Severus Snape off the map. He thought he'd already accomplished that, but then… he saw you." Draco's hands spread wide, palms up. It was nearly a supplicating gesture, as if begging the other boy to forgive his father's madness, but Constantine knew that a Malfoy would never ask forgiveness.

Draco flicked his grey eyes disdainfully over Con's face. "Personally, I don't see the resemblance. My godfather was a great man while you are clearly as common as a Bowtruckle. However, my father said it was like looking directly into the face of an eighteen-year-old Severus Snape. He said you even spoke like he did, all truculence and sharp wit."

Considering Draco's words, Con slid deeper into his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you warning me? What's in it for you?"

Fury crept into the other boy's face. It was chilling to watch the Draco's genial, smug face transform into a mask of crackling anger and cold grudge. "What's it going to take?" he hissed. "To show you Gryffindors that I'm not Lucius Malfoy? Should I rub ashes in my hair and take a vow of poverty to atone for his actions? Wasn't it bloody enough that I tipped off the Boy-Who-Hates-My-Guts to the fact that the Mudblood and Weaselette were trapped in my father's ruddy dungeons? How is it that Dumbledore came out of that smelling like a rose when it was his delays that caused Ginny's death?" His lips pulled back in a snarl. "You know, she was the only bloody Gryffindor that treated me like a human being, and not a baby Death Eater. It took us five years to get there, but Ginny and I were friends, and now she's dead because Dumbledore was too busy scratching his own arse."

Con's face remained impassive. However, internally Constantine Prince was reeling from Draco's well-aimed barbs. Ginny Weasley had seen beyond the supercilious sneer to the human being beneath. Draco and she had been friends. Con wondered what it had meant for the Slytherin to befriend a Gryffindor. Both of their houses would have seen it as a betrayal that needed to be addressed. But here he was, proudly claiming that friendship after she was gone, killed by his father and the bumblings of the Headmaster. She'd left the boy an aching, empty cavity.

"Did you love her?" Con quailed as the blunt question left his mouth. And here he'd just been chastising Potter for his lack of sublety.

Draco's shoulders relaxed, and his breath huffed out in a small laugh. "Don't romanticize it, mate. We weren't _good_ friends." His eyes flicked over to Con's and he gave him a sickly, wilted attempt at a smirk. He gathered the tattered ruins of his arrogance around him like a cloak and said, "She did have a nice set of tits, though."

And with that, he turned back to the desk in front of him and continued to work on the Arithmancy problems. Con pushed his completed worksheet towards Draco.

"Here. Your answers are bollocks."

"Thanks." The Slytherin tapped his quill on the desk in front of him. "Look, just because I warned you doesn't mean I like you at all. I'm going to continue to compose poems about your ugly mug and how you're probably going to die alone in a gutter. My housemates think they're hilarious."

Con smirked. "You write poems about me, Draco?"

Draco covered his mouth with a hand, almost as if he was hiding a small smile. "Shove off, Prince."


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: Wow. This is a long chapter compared to my normal ones... Which I guess isn't saying too much, but my normal chaps are like 1900 words, and this one is 3000. Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed. I lurv you guys!_

_A bit of graphic smut in this chapter, so if you don't want to read it, I'd just skip on to the next one. ;) _

_Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing with her goodies. And I mean that in an entirely non-sexy way. _

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Hermione and Neville were already in the jenett pond by the time Constantine arrived at Greenhouse Eleven. They were covered in mud from the tops of their heads to the soles of their feet, but the environment looked perfect. They'd scraped the slime off the wooden slats that made up the edges of the pond and laid a thick foundation of soil and nutrients at the bottom to nourish the water jenetts they were going to cultivate.

"I'd almost be offended that you didn't wait for me to get started, but then again – you're disgustingly dirty, and I am not." His voice was smug.

"Don't sound so pleased with yourself. We left the backbreaking labor to you. The pool needs to be filled with water." Hermione slogged over to the shallow edge and raised a hand for Con to help her out.

He grasped her dirty hand in distaste and hoisted her over the three and a half foot lip. She caught her breath at his strength and at the calluses she could feel covering his blunt fingers. When Constantine surreptitiously tried to wipe his hands on the edge of her robe, Hermione felt a smile tug at the edge of her mouth. She pretended she didn't notice.

He sighed, seeing Neville struggling to pull himself over the side. "Longbottom?" Con extended a hand to help Neville.

The Gryffindor looked up, surprised, and a smile bloomed on his face. Grasping the dark-haired boy's hand, he allowed himself to be steadied as he clambered out of the jenett pond. As he stood up, his feet (which were absolutely covered with muck) slid out from under him and he began to fall.

His hand was still grasping Constantine's.

With muffled curses, the two boys fell back into the pond in a tangle of muddy limbs.

"Oh, for Gods' sakes," Con mumbled, looking down at his clothes. Hermione choked on her laughter. He looked like a big, muddy bear as he crouched in the jenett pond with soil and muck in his hair and smeared on his school robes.

Neville was crouched against the wall of the pool, his eyes terrified. Hermione could see that his life was flashing before his eyes as he stared at Con, wondering when the bear was going to maul his little, fawn-like self. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, heedless of the mud. It stood straight up, plastered in place by the mire.

"I am so sorry. Con, I am so, so sorry. Are you… I just, I'm so clumsy sometimes. I am really sorry!"

Hermione watched the emotions chase across Constantine's face. He was irritated. There was no doubt about it. At that particular moment, Constantine Prince wanted to lash out and tear Neville into little quivering, sobbing bits. Instead, he took a deep calming breath. It flowed in through his pinched nostrils and inflated his chest and sank down to his toes. When he breathed out, Hermione saw some of the tension leave his body.

"It's okay, Neville. I know it was an accident. Besides," he flashed his teeth, "I've got a lot of work to do myself, so I'd have been covered in muck in no time, eh?" He smacked Longbottom on the shoulder entirely too hard, causing the smaller boy to slip and fall into the mud again. Constantine sighed happily and climbed out.

"So, we're ready for the water then?"

Hermione nodded. Con turned back to Neville who was still struggling to get out of the enclosure. "I know that we can't use Augamenti because of the jenett's hatred of magic. However, will it retard the growth of the plant if we carry water in transfigured buckets?"

Huffing and sweating, Neville sat on the floor. "No, that should be fine." He wiped his moist brow and groaned. "I've still got to study up for that Potions quiz tomorrow. Hermione, I think I've done my duty for friendship. Do you mind if I leave you two to fill the pond? I'm knackered."

"Of course, Neville! Get on with you now. I'll see you up in the common room later tonight!" The boy smiled and took his leave, leaving Con and Hermione to puzzle out how to fill the jenett pond.

They transfigured buckets out of two branches he brought back from the Forbidden Forest. The water had to come from either the pump near Greenhouse 5 or the lake. The pump was considerably closer, but required a lot of effort to flex the arm that controlled the water. The lake was deemed to be a better choice. In the end, the two of them, working on the principle that magic was acceptable as long as the spells didn't interact directly with the water, decided to expand the volume of the buckets and simultaneously lighten the load.

It took twenty treks out to the lake for each of them before the pond was filled. Hermione figured that really wasn't so bad considering the size of the pool.

They threw themselves onto the floor of the abandoned greenhouse, panting and dirty. Hermione and Neville had repaired the panes of glass that had been broken over the years, and washed the entire structure until it gleamed. Where the old building had once been an eyesore, an aged fighter with its teeth knocked out, it now shined with like a diamond in the sun.

Before the glass had been refurbished, a tree had grown through a portion of the greenhouse's skeleton in the westernmost corner. Hermione and Neville hadn't had the heart to cut it back so they had sealed the building around it – leaving the branches partially inside and partially outside. It provided lovely shade, and the two Gryffindors were taking full advantage of it now.

"I talked to Professor Sprout today," Hermione said sleepily.

"Uhm," Con replied, unconcerned.

"She said the seedlings should be coming in by Owl Post in a day or two."

"Hermione…"

"Hmm?"

Constantine rolled onto his side towards Hermione. She noticed his face was soft, and his eyes were gentle and sweet. He looked at her like something precious, and her heart sped up and yearned towards him like a river running towards the ocean, like something womanly and inevitable and precious. He touched her cheek and she blushed a furious red. Hermione worried it was unbecoming and so she focused instead on the pulse that she could see beating strongly in his throat.

"Hermione…"

"Yes?" Her voice was tender and expectant.

"Let's go swimming."

"What?" The girl's voice had gone flat, and her arms were wrapped around her torso as if to prevent her ribs from splintering under the weight of her broken expectations.

"It'll be lovely. It's cool outside, but with the charmed panels you and Neville set in the roof to trap the heat to keep our jenetts toasty, it'll be pleasant in the water."

Hermione rather liked the way he had called them _their_ jenetts. She blushed and spun around when she saw Con had already started to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh, stop that. I'm going to transfigure myself a swimsuit. You should do it, too."

"We shouldn't get into the jenett pool with transfigured suits on. We'll pollute the pool with magic."

"I was talking with Neville about that, and he said it was prolonged exposure to magic that stunted the growth of lotuses. So, it was bad to use magic to clean the wood that makes up the sides of the pool because that wood will trap the magic and slowly pollute the water. But it was okay to carry non-magicked water in a transfigured bucket." Hermione squeaked when he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. "It should be just fine to swim in transfigured suits. That is, unless you plan on moving into the pond permanently? I have to warn you, I don't think your copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ will take to the damp very well."

Hermione wanted to be irritated with him, and she would be any second. … Just as soon as she was able to look away from his long, lean, _lovely_ body. Constantine was standing in front of her with nothing on but swimming trunks and the copper cuff bracelet around his wrist. Her voice made a tiny, scraping noise as if it was trying to flee from her. His long black hair flowed down his back like dark waters. Muscles shifted in his chest and abdomen when he slid his weight from his left foot to his right. He was wiry and well-defined, but Hermione sucked in her breath when she saw the scar.

It meandered from his left collarbone to his right hip, a testament to the rigors of war. It was still red and angry.

"Oh, Con! How did this happen? It must have been very deep!" She reached out and touched it gently, surprised by its heat.

He froze when her hand touched him. Her eyes met his, surprised by the change.

"I don't know."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice pleading. "Please come swimming with me."

And because his voice was one big, raw ache, she found herself nodding and unbuttoning her dirty robes. "Turn around," she said, and he complied.

Her clothes came off, one piece of mental armor at a time, and her fingers lightly traced the imperfections in her skin. "Constantine, I don't want you to be shocked when you see me." Carefully, she transfigured her undergarments into a red bathing suit. _Gryffindor courage_, she reminded herself.

The boy made an enquiring noise in his throat.

"I've been scarred as well. My marks are… quite a bit worse than yours. Okay, you can turn around."

His eyes burned where they touched, and Hermione had never felt so exposed in her life. Every mark on her body was a badge of courage, but she keenly felt the tug of her dual roles. She was Hermione Granger, war hero and best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. But she was also a girl… a woman who wanted to be physically appealing to the man she desired.

Con stepped closer and ran his fingertip over the cross that covered part of her neck and chest.

"That was fifth year. Sectumsempra curse by Antonin Dolohov at the Department of Mysteries."

He touched a set of four parallel scars that bisected her left bicep.

"McNair."

He touched a series of round burns that hop-scotched almost playfully down her right arm.

"Lucius Malfoy."

Con walked around her to look at her back, and she heard a soft, broken noise when he saw the state of her skin. He touched the brand that proclaimed her dirty blood.

"Lucius Malfoy."

He touched a lash mark.

"Lucius Malfoy."

The palm of his hand slid from her shoulder to the small of her back, covering the ridged terrain in its entirety.

"Lucius Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy." Hermione stepped away from him and turned around, unable to bear any more. "I know it's horrible looking, but - "

"You're so beautiful." His eyes were intense, and he dragged his fingers possessively over the mark of Doholov's curse. "Please… Please, come swimming with me."

She nodded, and together they slid into the water.

As they floated there in the jenett pond of Greenhouse Eleven, the sky began to darken. The air was electric between them, and Hermione reached out towards him, unable to help herself. She touched his collarbone with tentative, questing fingers, and he sat up. The water sheeted off his neck and shoulders and fell back into the pond in intimate, musical notes.

"Hermione," he said.

She looked at him and his eyes burned so fiercely she pushed away from him so she wouldn't be consumed. Tiny water droplets clung to his eyelashes and his hair was a sleek cap against his head.

"Hermione," Con said again, swimming forward. "Hermione, you have to know…"

Her back touched the edge of the pond, and he moved forward one more step bringing his body so close to hers that she could smell him. Constantine was all juniper and bayberry and so delicious that she wanted to bite him, and oh god, was that normal? That lovely skin on his neck was just begging for her mouth, and she could almost feel his pulse against her lips. Would he think her insane if she just leaned forward and devoured him?

"Hermione, you have to know how ardently I admire you." His voice was a thready whisper, and his long fingers stretched forward and slid through the curls at the side of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact and her head tilted into his hand. "You… You're so damn smart. It's unbelievably sexy. Did you know? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are bent over a cauldron with your face flushed from the steam and your hair curling and frizzing? I find that I trust you more than I can fathom – with your ridiculous bravery and quiet heart. Do you… could you ever… return my feelings?"

His face was very close to hers and so earnest, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. Hermione was terrified and moved by his words. _Could she return his feelings? Was the man blind?_ She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his inexpertly and allowed her arms to slide tight around his neck. _Oh_. The water made his skin so slick.

Constantine's chest rose and fell quickly, and Hermione thought he was taking and releasing a relieved breath. His hands cupped her cheeks, and he gently tilted her head so that he could brush his lips more firmly against hers. As Constantine worshiped her mouth, she felt his thumbs slide down her neck and caress the sensitive skin by her jugular. She shivered, and he pulled back quickly in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. More, please," she said as she leaned in again. Hermione felt him smile against her mouth. His fingers slid into her wet curls, tipping her head back and she made a thrumming noise in her throat because his hands in her hair felt so good. So _right_. Con placed a gentle thumb on the skin below her lower lip, asking her to open her mouth so he could deepen their kiss. When she complied, his tongue flicked against her bottom lip and then slipped into her mouth.

When she felt the velvet slide of Con's tongue on hers, Hermione's eyes opened wide before fluttering shut again. It was shocking and intimate. His tongue was slick and hot and with every delicate flick, she felt desire pool between her legs like treacle. She became very focused on what his mouth was doing to hers, and determined to wring every last sensation from this kiss, she arched her body into his and fisted her hands in his thick, black hair. He went wild, pulling her up and tight against his body.

So, _this_ was what she'd been missing. This was what Lavender and Parvati would whisper about at night in their beds when she'd roomed with them before becoming Head Girl. This amazing sensation of connection was what caused curfew breakers to risk getting caught for a few precious moments of the coast of hands on a body and soft moans and glorious, glorious aching. Hermione was ravenous for this boy. Her hands eagerly slid up his back, tracing each straining muscle as he pushed his body against hers and sucked and nibbled at her lips.

Con groaned against her mouth when he felt her questing hands. He rocked his body against hers, allowing her to feel his desire. One of her hands ventured upwards from where they rested on the bare skin of his waist and rubbed his chest. She sucked on his tongue, and ran her fingertips over the tight bud of his nipple. He cried out and tore his mouth from hers.

"Too fast," he panted. His head dropped to the hollow between her neck and shoulder while he shuddered and tried to regain control of himself. Con removed his hands from her like it was the most difficult thing in the world and gripped the edge of the jenett pond.

Hermione touched her lips in curiosity. They felt hot and puffy and wonderful. _Constantine Prince_ had done that to her. It was an exciting, erotic thought. He'd slid his hot tongue into her mouth and his big hands had been all over her. She whimpered a little and rubbed her thighs together. Con felt it, and his head jerked from off her shoulder, his eyes dark with lust. He ran his thumb gently over her lips. They parted and her tongue touched the pad of his finger. His breath caught.

With a regretful look, he stepped away from her. "I am perilously close to taking advantage of you, Hermione."

She nodded, glazed.

"We still don't know each other very well."

She nodded again, her eyes skimming over his form. Her glance dropped to the front of his swim trunks and she licked her lips. Even through the obscuring water, she could see the tented front. She flexed her hand, wondering if she dared to touch him.

"I want to court you. You deserve to be courted, Hermione."

Unable to help herself, her hand slid over the front of his trunks and Con groaned, his eyes slipping shut. His hand covered hers and pressed it harder against his erection.

"And then I'm going to take you and make you scream my name with such pleasure no one will have any doubt whose witch you are."

She nodded and whispered. "I would like that, Constantine."

His eyes flared and he leaned forward to kiss her again.

* * *

_A/N: And there we have it. Con and Hermione are together now, although they are not without their opposing forces. I hope it lived up to your expectations! Like it, love it, hate it, review it. :)_


	10. Chapter 9

_A/N: Sorry I didn't get a chance to post yesterday!! It was quite a hectic day for me and I didn't get a chanc_

_This is JK Rowling's creation. I'm just swinging on her swing set._

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**Chapter Nine**

It was one of those nights when Constantine felt that the darkness in the boys' dormitory was stifling and secretive. It was dusty and tasted like his dreams, plaguing him with visions of red, lantern eyes and deeds that were best done under the cloaking cover of dark. It muffled tiny whispers of noise that reminded him far too much of the sound of someone trying _not_ to make a sound, setting his senses on high alert.

Sleep eluded him no matter how he menaced and punched his pillow, so he finally dismissed his wards and left his bed. The fire in the common room was kept continually burning in the cooler months, and he decided that he might as well catch up on some recreational reading that had been shunted aside lately in order that he might spend more time with Hermione.

_Hermione_, he thought, smiling in pleasure. What a fascinating, desirable woman. He found it almost difficult to believe that she wanted _him_, and yet want him she clearly did. In the week since their interlude in the jenett pond, she'd initiated a campaign of casual touching that was driving him wild.

That morning before breakfast, he'd decided to traipse down to the Potions lab to squeeze in a couple of hours worth of work. After his shower, he'd cast a quick Drying Charm on his hair without bothering to pull a brush through it and rushed off to catch the current vat of Headache Potion before the Stasis Spell wore off. Hermione, having had the same idea as Con did, had entered the lab practically on his heels.

He'd been sitting on a stool, his face bent over a cauldron when he heard her maniacal burst of laughter. The boy had jumped and whirled to face her.

"Whatever are you cackling at, witch?"

"Oh, Con. Your _hair_. It's appalling!" Her mouth had been stretched wide in a friendly grin, but Constantine remembered how his heart had dropped into his shoes and his face had heated.

He'd felt sullen and heart-sore. He was new to these feelings and was surprised that her derision could wound him so quickly. He'd transfigured a stirring rod into a hairbrush with a sour expression. Hermione had tut-tutted, and with a soft, playful expression in her eyes, she'd turned him to face her. She pushed his knees wide so she could step between them.

Her hands had slid into his hair, as gentle and soothing as the sound of a page being turned in a quiet room. Con had struggled to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head, but was fighting a losing battle. He'd surrendered, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feel of her fingernails scraping lightly on his scalp.

"That feels good, I take it?"

"Ungh," he'd replied around a thick tongue.

"There. Much more handsome." Her whisper had been intimate, and unable to help himself, he'd leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

They hadn't gotten much Potions work done for Madame Pomfrey after that.

Con _had_ managed a fair bit of research, however. For example, he'd learned that the skin on the back of Hermione's knees was ticklish. He'd discovered that she made the most delightful girlish squeals when he ran his palms down her ribs. She went crazy when he'd sucked on her earlobe delicately and allowed his hot breath to tease her neck and ear.

Constantine silently left the boys dormitory with his book tucked under his arm. Out of habit, he ran his hand down his face to hide his boyish grin. That last one had been his favorite discovery. At the time, he'd had her pressed against his Potions workstation. When his mouth had connected with her ear, she'd cried out and arched into him, one of her legs coming up to wrap around his waist. Her cry had made him feel primitive and masculine in a _me-man, you-woman_ kind of way, and he'd wrapped his hand around her thigh and hiked her closer, inadvertently pressing his erection against her soft belly.

He firmly put a period on the end of that thought, and adjusted himself as he walked down the stairs. Although Con sincerely doubted that anyone would be in the common room so late at night, he hardly wanted to risk it by walking around with a massive, bloody circus tent in his pants.

The book in his hands was heavy. Hermione had leant it to him several days ago, stating it was 'simply fascinating.' It was called _Wizarding Diseases that Feature Discharge_ - something that would be sure to quell even the most rampant libido. It covered the most common – a wizarding cold, to the obscure – Genetian's Bubbling Dragon Pustules, the symptoms of which were so unpleasant, many wizards offed themselves before the disease had run its course. Some of the afflicted actually ended up drowning in…

Con stopped dead at the foot of the stairs. There was a body lying face-down in the center of the common room.

His brain shut down, and instinct took over. Con's wand was out as he scanned the shadows of the fire-lit room. On silent feet, he moved towards the body and was horrified to the glint of red hair. _Weasely_, he groaned mentally, taking in the awkwardly sprawled limbs. He nudged the boy in his side with the toe of his boot, desperately praying that his suspicions were wrong, but Ron didn't move.

Con flipped the cadaver onto its back to see if he could determine the cause of death. Clinically, he noted that the body was still warm and had not yet attained _rigor mortis_. There was not a mark on him. _There's only a few curses that kill without leaving spell damage on the corpse, and all of them are dark_. He ran his black ebony wand over the body, searching for signs of foul play.

"Bloody hell!" The tip of a wand was pressed very firmly into Con's neck, and he looked down into the eyes of a very startled, very much alive Ronald Weasely.

Constantine's mouth pinched as if he'd bitten into a pumpkin pasty and found the finger of a house elf. Faster than Weasely would have thought possible, his hand had pushed Ron's wand away from his throat and disarmed him while his other hand had firmly boxed the boy on the ear.

"What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing playing dead? Are you so lacking in brain cells that you cannot differentiate between your bedroom and the Gryffindor common room floor? Has the sheer quantity of low-quality perfume you've hoovered off the neck of Ms. Brown rotted your brain with its cloying stench?"

Ron's expression darkened as Con spoke, and he made a rough grab for his wand. It was futile, of course. The dark-haired boy's reflexes were too sharp. "I wasn't playing dead, you berk. I was sleeping. That is, I was sleeping until I woke up with a dark, shadowy figure crouched over me with their wand shooting red sparks."

Con sat back, his jaw closing with a snap. "Oh. You see, I thought you were dead. That was a diagnostic spell." It wasn't an apology. He hadn't meant to frighten the Weasel, but he'd be damned if he apologized to someone who was doing something as idiotic as sleeping in the common area.

"Well, you've seen now that I'm not. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me alone now so I can get back to sleep." And with that, Ron flopped back onto the floor and resumed his sprawl. Con winced. It didn't look at all comfortable.

"Might I venture to ask _why_ you are sleeping here? Surely, the sanctuary of your own bed or the pleasures of Ms. Brown's would be more appropriate?"

Ron sighed and sat back up. When he spoke his voice was entirely dispassionate and his eyes were flat. "I haven't been able to sleep in my own bed since last year, and Lavender broke up with me. Called me an 'emotional cripple.' How'd you like that? Been with her since middle of sixth year. Cripple couldn't have done that."

"On the contrary, Weasely. If the girl is willing to accept it, there's no reason that someone with stunted emotions couldn't be in a long-term relationship."

Ron jumped to his feet. "Well, I'm a mite peckish. I think I'll go tickle the pear for a midnight snack." He strode towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Weasely…"

"You want me to bring you back anything, mate?" His smile was manic and aggressive and showed entirely too many teeth. "No? Well, guess I'll be off then."

"It's after curfew. You'll lose points for Gryffindor."

The redhead shrugged. "_If_ I get caught." Weasely again smiled as if his sanity was suspect. Without another word, he slipped out into the corridors of Hogwarts.

Constantine sank into the chair closest to the fire, his book on his lap. He wondered when would be an appropriate time to warn Potter and Hermione that their best friend's coping mechanism had just dumped him, and it wasn't going too well. Ron had clearly just come face-to-face with his issues, and it hadn't been a friendly meeting. Crossing his legs towards the firelight, Con opened his book.

* * *

The raven-haired Gryffindor looked down smugly to where Hermione's tiny hand was nestled in his paw. They were walking towards Transfigurations together, and he'd courteously offered to shoulder her bag as well as his own. Con was very serious about courting Hermione.

It was, after all, only logical. Con had decided they suited each other quite well, and courting was a way to engage her emotions thereby binding her to his side.

He was very much in _favor_ of binding her to his side. Hermione was the only girl he'd met at Hogwarts who was not silly or frivolous. She had a calm, logical head on her shoulders, and she was ferociously intelligent. If they were to have children down the road, he wanted to ensure that they were intelligent as well – he couldn't risk carrying on with a witch who would cloud their gene pool with idiocy. They shared several driving interests, the strongest of which was their mutual desire to pursue Potions research as a career.

And, if Con was honest with himself, he found her beautiful.

There was no shame in being physically as well as mentally engaged by another person.

As they neared the Transfigurations classroom, Con decided it was a perfect moment to woo her with a small gesture. When they stopped so that he might return her bag before entering the classroom, he reached up and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. He leaned forward and gently kissed Hermione's lovely pink mouth, showing her that he was proud to stand at her side.

She opened her mouth slightly and he cocked his head to further take advantage of her silent offer to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly a cold, hard hand clamped on his shoulder and pulled him away from Hermione. Her bottom lip slid from between his with a soft popping noise, and she made a disappointed mewl. Her eyes widened when she saw Professor McGonagall standing with her feet planted in the space between them like twin oaks.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor from _each_ of you!" The professor's already upright posture was rigid and practically radiating fury. "Get in the classroom with you, Ms. Granger! Immediately!"

When Hermione complied, the dark-haired witch turned to face Constantine Prince. Her finger poked him hard in the breastbone, and in spite of himself, he stepped back in submission from the older woman. "How _dare _you. You are not to touch her, do you hear me?"

Con stared at her as if he'd been Stupefied. She took several deep breaths, her nostrils flaring, before reaching up to grasp him on the shoulder with her left hand. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler, although still frosty. "She is not for you. Are you listening to me? _She_ is _not_ for _you_."

When Professor McGonagall pulled her hand away from him, Constantine saw the glint of a copper cuff, the mate to his own, circling her left wrist.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_

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	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: So, here's the next chapter. I'm eager to get to chapter eleven because it's PURE SMUT!! That'll be posted tomorrow. _

_JK Rowling owns everything you recognize. I'm just playing with her puppets._

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**Chapter Ten**

Con completely ignored her during Transfigurations.

Hermione prided herself on being a sensible girl who was not given to flights of fancy. However, her fledgling relationship with Con was still new enough that she didn't know what to make of his refusal to meet her eyes. She tried not to give in to paranoia. He was extremely strong-willed. Surely, even as imposing a witch as Professor McGonagall would not be able to dissuade him from a course of action on which he'd decided?

Her classmates had heard the Head of Gryffindor take one hundred points off the pair for snogging in the corridors. They were watching her with the curled lips and disdainful eyes of the morally superior, forgetting that Hermione herself had caught the grand majority of them in compromising positions over the last three years as both Prefect and Head Girl. The difference, of course, was that _they_ had never lost more than twenty points at a go. Hermione and Constantine had single-handedly (so to speak) wiped out almost a month's worth of correct answers in class, good sportsmanship, and extra-credit.

Nervously, she wrote out a note to Con asking him if he was okay. She sent it to him as a flapping sparrow, solicitous and sweet. McGonagall's back was turned, but Con didn't hesitate. He Incendioed the note before it had time to settle on his desk and gave Hermione a reproving look.

Seamus flicked her sharply on the ear. "Oy, watch it!" he whispered. "You're going to cost us the ruddy house cup if you don't get a hold of yourself!" Hermione sunk down into her seat, ashamed.

She turned her attention towards the day's Transfiguration assignment – turning a calla lily into a trumpet. Her movements were correct, but she had trouble focusing on anything but the faint lines that had bracketed Constantine's mouth when he'd turned to frown at her. Just thirty minutes before, that same mouth had been pressed to her own. Her trumpet was a pale velvet that bruised if you tried to depress the keys, and if you blew into the mouthpiece, it would spit pollen out the horn before dissolving into a pile of crumpled petals. Hermione received a zero for the day.

Frankly, she was disgusted with herself.

Although she'd already been given a failing grade, she straightened up and pursed her lips to try the project again. _Hermione Granger_, was an excellent Transfigurations student. _Hermione Granger_, let nothing stand in the way of her schoolwork. _Hermione Granger_ suddenly felt the brand of black eyes upon her and jerked as she cast the spell.

Her calla lily burst into flames and let out a brassy, dying wail. She leaned her forehead into her hand and listened to Seamus and Dean snicker at her difficulties.

Constantine left class as soon as it was over. He didn't even glance back over his shoulder at her. Hermione was much slower as she packed her books in her bag, her heart heavy. She rubbed the heel of her palm into her eye.

"Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagall said, her voice tentative. The curly-haired girl gritted her teeth in irritation. The professor's tone was that of an adult to a child, and Hermione Granger may have just set her Transfigurations homework on fire, but she'd also killed five wizards and helped take down a Dark Lord before she turned eighteen. She was no child. "Ms. Granger, I'd like to talk to you about Mr. Prince."

"Of course, Professor McGonagall."

"I'm afraid that you and Mr. Prince are… incompatible."

"Pardon me, but I'm not sure how you've come to that conclusion."

"It's immaterial, child. I know you do not want to listen to me, but I find that I would be remiss in my duties as Head of your House if I did not address this with you."

"Professor, if we were merely incompatible, you and I would not be having this discussion. You might go back to the Teachers' Lounge and gossip about how for such a bright girl, Ms. Granger has abominable taste in men, but you'd never directly try and interfere in my life." The girl cocked her head and thought for a moment before truthfully adding, "Other than to keep us from snogging in public."

"If I could offer you an explanation, I _would_. I am quite literally _unable_ to disclose the details to you, Ms. Granger, but if I was, you may rest assured that you would agree with me that you are entirely unsuited." Professor McGonagall's voice had risen in mild agitation. The initial shock and anger that she had displayed when she had first seen Con and Hermione kissing had faded to be replaced by a terribly earnest concern that the seventh-year actually found more distressing.

"Thank you for your solicitude, Professor. However, I have to respectfully decline your advice. Constantine is… important to me. I do not wish to give him up." Hermione's mouth was curled into an aggrieved frown, and her arms were wrapped around her torso.

"Ms. Granger…" The older witch's voice trailed off, and she turned away. Her shoulders were very stiff and she moved to sit down at her desk. "Ms. Granger, I remember the joys of young love. It's… I'd like to ask you to wait for another month or two before making any decisions as to your relationship with Mr. Prince." She played with the copper cuff at her wrist.

Hermione cocked her head and chewed on a nail thoughtfully. "I'll think on what you've said, Professor." _And the answer is still no. Although who knows where Con and I stand after this morning._

"That will be all then, Ms. Granger."

Hermione exited the classroom and made her way to the Great Hall for lunch. The corridors were empty and there was no sign of a slender, black-haired boy waiting for her. She felt wrung out and emotionally exhausted. There was a traitorous ache in her chest, pinned down and held in place by her rib bones. She knocked her knuckles against her breastbone, hoping to jar the pain lose from its foxhole.

Two corridors away from the Great Hall, a hand darted out and captured Hermione's wrist and pulled her into a niche housing the statue of Saint Belvidere of the Lazy Eye. A mouth captured hers in a devastating kiss, and the girl sighed in relief when she saw stretches of pale skin and the dark rook eyes she'd come to know.

He buried his fingers in her hair and slipped his tongue into her mouth. She thrummed in appreciation of his taste, all bitter coffee and hot male. Finally, she pulled her mouth from his.

"Con," she gasped.

He smiled and rubbed his closed lips against hers, once, twice, thrice. It was a tender gesture that soothed her. "There you are. I've been waiting for ages! Did McGonagall corner you, too?"

Hermione nodded. "She said you and I wouldn't suit."

The boy snorted. "That's _much_ nicer than what she said to me. She told me that I was no good for you… That you were not meant for me and I wasn't to touch you."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Hermione swallowed and looked at his hands with his slender fingers and thought to herself what a tragedy it would be if he was never to touch her again.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes darkened with emotion. "I find that I am unwilling to give you up, my dear. I hope you don't mind."

"I'd be put out with you if you did."

She found herself wrapped firmly in his arms, her head tucked under his chin as his fingers ran lazily through her hair.

"I didn't like how you ignored me in Transfigurations today."

He pulled back from her, his eyes registering surprise. "The other students were treating you like a pariah. I thought it would be easier for you if they thought we were properly chastened." Con kissed her neck absent-mindedly. "Moreover, I didn't relish losing more points for Gryffindor or getting another dressing down from McGonagall."

She hummed in thought. "Did you happen to notice that she has the same copper cuff that you do?"

He nodded, his face still buried in her neck. Con's voice was muffled as he said, "Yes. She said that it was for a special project for Dumbledore and that she couldn't say any more. She did caution me _not_ to try and take it off." He snorted and Hermione giggled at the sensation on the tender skin of her neck. "Too late for that! I've tried taking it off using at least twenty different spells and the bloody thing is stuck like glue!" He stepped back from her and smiled genuinely, brushing her hair back from her face. "Have I mentioned today that you look lovely?"

"Perhaps you should speak with Dumbledore, Con. I can't help but think that he knows a great deal more than he told you at the start of term."

"Yes. I'll admit that I was just thinking the same thing."

* * *

In the Great Hall, Hermione and Con sat across from each other, reading companionably. She'd brought a mass market paperback from the muggle world since she was eating and had an unfortunate habit of losing track of her food while wrapped up in a book. There were several editions currently residing in her collection that featured soup-dipped edges or dressing smears.

Con was still reading _Wizarding Diseases that Feature Discharge_. He'd moved on to the full-color wizarding photo section which chronicled the progression of several of the more renowned illnesses.

"Oh, GODS!" Harry cried, having arrived just in time to see a nasty pustule burst on the behind of a gently-bred witch in her seventies. "Must you read that at the table, Con? I mean, it's repulsive, isn't it?"

"It's all a part of life, Potter," he replied calmly, spreading clotted cream on some toast. His crooked white teeth sank heartily into his snack.

Harry gagged and turned away.

Ron stumbled up the aisle and sank into the seat next to Hermione. He looked terrible.

"Con. Harry. Hermione." He nodded at each of them in turn. His eyes were red and dry and were sitting above dark purple bruises that testified to sleepless nights and haunted dreams. Ron's skin was pale and his hands shook as he took a roll from the platter in front of him.

"Ron…" Hermione said. "Are you all right?"

"Never been better, love."

"Did you try speaking to Lavender yet?"

"She said she wasn't going to take me back. Started dating a Hufflepuff." Ron's eyes narrowed and he slammed the knife he'd been using to butter his roll onto the table with a clatter. "A _Hufflepuff_, for chrissakes!" he shouted. The emotion bled off his face and he recommenced calmly buttering his bread. "Who needs that cow anyway?"

"So you haven't been sleeping I'm assuming? Do you need me to brew you a bottle of Dreamless Sleep?" Con asked, never taking his eyes from the book in front of him.

"Nah, I'm fine." Ron ate the roll in silence, sitting hunched and defiant at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione had been dreading this day. She'd warned Harry it was only a matter of time before Lavender got tired of being used as an emotional sop and threw him over for someone who was whole. This was bigger than the end of a nearly year-long relationship. Ron's war demons were crawling out of the dark holes in his soul to which he'd banished them and demanding restitution. She didn't know how to help him.

Her hand grasped his ropy shoulder muscle and squeezed. Licking her lips, she said, "Is there anything we can do?"

Ron's eyes flashed to her moistened mouth, and a manic light blossomed in his eyes. He slid a brawny, freckled arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "That's nice of you, Hermione. You've always been a good friend to me and Harry. What say we go for a walk together around the lake after classes, just you and me. We'll watch the sun set."

Her hands rose defensively and rested against his chest. Constantine's eyes were watching her over the top of his book, but he did not step in, allowing her to handle her friend in the manner she thought best. Despite the situation in which she found herself, her heart warmed at Con's display of trust.

"Ron, that's awfully sweet of you, but I think Con might object to me taking a romantic walk that didn't include him."

The redhead's mouth fell open. Hermione bit her lip. It was a measure of his distress that he not only just turned to her as a temporary bedmate in whom he wanted to bury himself and his problems, but he also hadn't noticed that his two friends were courting. "You and Con? Right, I mean. Of course! I didn't mean _that_, Herms. I mean you and I have been mates for far too long to go prancing down that path, eh?" He put down his half-eaten roll and shoved his shaking hands in his ugly Weasely sweater.

"Ron…"

"No, really Mione. It's cool." He shrugged and smiled his horrid rictus of a smile. "I'm going to head out to the pitch and fly for a bit. See you all later!" Ron stalked from the Great Hall.

Hermione turned to the other one third of the Golden Trio in distress. "Whatever are we going to do about him, Harry?"

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it. Next up: SMUT!_


	12. Chapter 11

_A/N: **WARNING!! SMUT AHEAD. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ IT, REST ASSURED, THERE IS NO PLOT CONTAINED WITHIN. THIS IS PURE PWP. JUST SKIP AHEAD TO THE NEXT CHAPTER. This chapter contains strong mature scenes within the "M" ratings guide of FFNet.**_

_Harry Potter and everything contained herein is the exclusive property of JK Rowling. I just like to write stories where they do dirty things to each other. I make no profit._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

It was early on Saturday morning and Hermione was waiting to meet Constantine to tend the water jenetts. When the rest of Hogwarts was still asleep in their beds, the two seventh-years would creep into their greenhouse while the rising sun was still painting the sky a flushed Dreamless Sleep purple. They'd remain silent as they slid into the water. The only sounds marring the silent morning cocoon were their quiet breaths as they broke the surface of the water.

The October morning cast pale and stark lines on the landscape around the greenhouse. Frost bloomed on the grounds, washing the beauty of Hogwarts with monochrome white. Inside the greenhouse, Hermione stood in her school skirt and blouse, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her upper lip.

She was pleased that the spells she and Neville had applied to ten of the glass tiles in the roof were effectively trapping the weakening warmth of the Scottish sun and keeping her jenetts alive and happy. The spells wouldn't be effective enough in the dead of winter, but Hermione hoped that they'd only need one crop of the lotus for their research. For the early fall months, they were quite good enough to keep the flowers in balmy weather.

Hermione crossed her arms as she watched the sun climb further into the sky.

She was content.

Con entered Greenhouse Eleven, being careful to make just enough noise for her to hear that he was there. Early in their friendship, she'd found his ability to move silently very disconcerting, her nerves jumpy and frayed from battle conditions. Understanding her dilemma, he endeavored to alert her to his presence with small human noises: a cleared throat, the scuff of feet on the ground, the cracking of joints.

Hermione knew he was there, but she didn't turn around, preferring instead to see how he would approach her. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Mmmm." She stepped back so her back was flush against his chest.

He ran a hand over her curls and pressed his stubbly cheek to hers. They watched the sun come up and melt the frost off the grass.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Hermione asked.

"Some." His voice was quiet and matter-of-fact. Constantine pressed a kiss to her temple, and she smiled. She loved how he was constantly touching her. He couldn't get enough. It was almost as if he'd been denied casual affection for most of his life, and now that he had it, he was going to steal every opportunity to brush his fingers on her cheek or to revel over her small hand between his shoulder blades.

"Dreams?"

"Oh, yes," he smirked. Hermione couldn't _see_ him smirking, but it was very obvious in the tone of his voice. "I dreamt almost non-stop last night."

"You remembered them?"

"These weren't nightmares." The quality of his arms around her changed, going from tender to electric in a breath, and Hermione had to bite her lip to keep from gasping. Really, it was absurd how much he affected her.

"No?" she choked out.

"No. They were fantasies. You were featured prominently, of course." His hands slid slow and heavy over her hips. Con's mouth descended to her neck and placed several hot, nipping kisses there. "Of course, you were wearing quite a bit less."

Hermione's eyes nearly rolled back into her head with pleasure. The man certainly knew how to talk to her. He used his rich, dark voice like a weapon. She moaned when he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and used the edges of his teeth lightly.

"Please, Con…"

Her hands plucked uselessly at the hem of her clothing – searching – restless for _something_. He soothed them and pressed them up against the greenhouse glass. She shivered for the cold was leaching into her palms, but her body was so hot and needy she couldn't stand it. When she tried to pull her hands away, he pressed them back to the wall and whispered, "Keep them there. Trust me."

She nodded.

Con's hands slid up from her hips to her slim waist and up to cup her breasts, and her knees nearly buckled at the sensation. He was painstakingly gentleas he lifted and kneaded them and rolled the aching buds of her nipples between his fingers. He plucked the nubs gently while his tongue traced the shell of her ear. Hermione probably would have fallen except his arms slipped around her and dragged her tighter to his body.

Unable to bear it, she pulled her hands from the wall so that she could slide them behind her and touch him intimately. He made a discontented noise and punished her by removing his wicked hands from her chest and lacing his fingers with hers to press them back upon the glass. Hermione moaned at the lack of contact and Con smirked against her neck and rubbed his erection between the soft cheeks of her bum. With exquisite care and the slightest edge of teeth, he bit her shoulder and disengaged one hand from hers to slide it up the inside of her thigh. He cupped her mons through her skirt and panties and applied a gentle, circular motion with his entire palm.

Hermione cried out and crashed to her knees thinking, _Oh god, oh god, please more_, and Con understood just what she needed. He'd followed her to the ground, and his knees were stretched wide on either side of her body. He held her upright with an arm under her breasts while the other hand slipped under her skirt and skimmed up her leg. Hermione found it within herself to be briefly glad that she had worn black silk even though Con couldn't see it, but the moment passed immediately when he traced a line ever so lightly down her quim.

She gave a tiny animal cry and allowed her head to fall helplessly back against his shoulder. He growled, needing no further invitation to slip his hand under her waistband. His index and middle finger slipped between her sopping lips and coasted on either side of her clit. Con rubbed gently but firmly in teasing little circles around the bud while she squirmed ecstatically under his restraining arm.

"Hermione," he moaned in her ear. His voice was urgent. "You're so wet. Do you know how exciting I find that?" She licked her lips and flexed her hips against his hand in response to the roughness of his voice.

…It was probably a testament to how excited he could make her that she came nearly immediately with sweet, broken cries of, "_Con, Con, CON, OH, OH, OH, YESSSSS!"_

They collapsed panting to lie flat on the floor. Hermione rolled up onto her elbow and stared into his dear face. He gave her a boyish smile and moved to touch her face, but he stopped when he saw that his fingers were still covered in her juices. Con met her eyes through half-closed lids and slid his middle finger into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the pad, and Hermione couldn't help but stare at the erotic scene before her.

"You are so dirty. It's very shocking." Her voice was earnest.

He looked at her, surprised. "Oh! I was just doing what felt natural, love. I like experiencing every part of you." He flushed. "Would you prefer I stop?"

"No, I love it!" Hermione hastened to reassure him. Her eyes fastened to his mouth where he was still languorously licking the evidence of her arousal off his fingers. "I just worry that I won't be free or open enough to keep you interested. This is… all very new to me. I feel as if I don't always know what's acceptable and what's not in a consensual relationship."

His dark eyes flashed. "It's all acceptable with me. Anything you want, Hermione." He looked down at his hand and smiled slightly. "Would you like a taste? You're delicious."

She nodded and opened her pink lips to allow him to slip his index finger into her mouth. She closed her eyes to savor and analyze the flavor. It was musky and a little salty, but not at all bad. Hermione suckled the finger a little more firmly and slid his finger out until just the tip was in her mouth, and she dragged her tongue over the ridges of his print.

Con's lips fell open slightly as he watched her, and the girl noticed that his erection, which had flagged a bit, was once more pushing at the fabric of his trousers. He liked what she was doing. She slipped his finger deeper into the wet cavern of her mouth and allowed her tongue to slide against the tender skin between his digits. Her free hand stroked his erection, and his hips flexed helplessly against her.

His forefinger popped out of her mouth with a soft sucking noise. "I had just the most fantastic orgasm earlier, but you didn't. I want…" She blushed but continued, feeling audacious. "I want you to, as well. Will you tell me how?"

"_Gods_, yes," he groaned. "That was the hottest question I think I've ever been asked."

Hermione unbuttoned his trousers and was mildly startled when she saw he wasn't wearing any underpants. His penis jutted proudly into the air once she'd undone his placket. She took a moment to study him. He wasn't enormous, but if she had to guess she believed Con to be larger than average. His cock was a pearlescent pink, growing more reddened and flushed around the tip.

Wrapping a small hand around his shaft, she smiled when it jumped in response to her touch. Hermione moved her hand experimentally in an upwards stroke. Con pulled her hand away momentarily and tapped his wand against it, murmuring something unintelligible. Her palm was covered with a sheen of lubricant. When she looked at him in surprise, he gave her a half smile with his beautiful, crooked teeth.

"Every boy learns that spell once he hits puberty."

He curled her fist tightly around his cock again and showed her how to pump him in the way he liked best – with a flourish around the head. Con's back began to arch and his eyes rolled back into his head as Hermione alternated the speed and tightness of her grip. She'd always been a quick study.

She contemplated his weeping tip, and with just a moment's hesitation, she bent forward and took him in her hot, wet mouth.

"_Oh fuck!_" he moaned, thrusting involuntary. One of his hands curled tightly in her hair as she slid her lips up and down his shaft. She maintained the stroking motion with her lubricated hand, and stopped for a moment to tongue his slit.

Hermione decided she liked this. She felt powerful. Con was totally insensate, arching wildly against the floor and trying to slide more deeply down her throat. And really, the taste wasn't a problem so far. His skin was ever so slightly salty, but the main sensation she was currently experiencing was the feel of his smooth, papery skin against her pebbled tongue. She bobbed up and down several times before pulling his head out of her mouth entirely so she could lick around the rim like an ice cream cone. He whined and flexed his hips in a beseeching manner. Hermione sucked him back down her throat.

"Ah, _Gods_! I'm going to come." Using the hand that was tangled in her hair, he tried to pull her away, but she refused and wrapped her mouth firmly around him and stroked faster.

She could feel him suddenly swelling in her mouth before he burst on her tongue in several hot spurts of sticky semen. Hermione desperately wanted to be suave about this and tried her best to swallow, but his cum was so salty it stung the back of her throat. She choked and gagged most of it down, but a small stream dribbled out the edge of her mouth and down her chin.

Constantine pulled her next to him, panting. He rolled so that his body partially covered hers and gently cupped her cheeks so that she couldn't turn her face. His dark eyes were intent as he licked the remains of his orgasm off her chin.

"You are unbearably sexy." He kissed her deeply. "Do you hear me? Unbearably, totally, mind-blowingly sexy." Con's hands stroked through her curls. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever met, Hermione. You're extraordinary."

"Oh, I'm not, but I'm so glad you think so."

He graced her with another soft kiss. She sighed happily and laid her head on his chest. Hermione was content.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there you go my greedy, greedy oompa loompas. I hope it lived up to your expectations. Now that we've got that out of our systems (for a VERY short while anyway) we'll be moving forward into some very crafty, plot-oriented chapters. _


	13. Chapter 12

_A/N: So, here's chapter 12. Hope you guys enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated. :)_

_Wow, I know you guys are probably totally shocked by this nugget of information, but I am not JK Rowling! That lovely lady owns Harry Potter and everything that you recognize in this story. I am a lowly fanfiction writer, and make no profit on this._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"Will you come with me?" Constantine asked Hermione. Her curly head was tilted down towards a scrap of parchment she held in her hand, and she impatiently tapped her quill on a book she'd taken from the Hogwarts' library Potions section.

"What's that, Con?" Her voice was misty and inattentive.

"I said that I've got an appointment with the headmaster after classes are done today. I'd like it if you came with me." She looked up at him, her warm brown eyes considering. She'd bitten her lip while she was thinking, and Con's heart thumped hard twice at its swollen appearance. He suspected she had no idea the effect she had on him. She ran her tongue over her lower lip, and he felt his cock twitch.

"Why?" she asked finally. Her voice was curious, but not at all unfriendly.

Constantine was irritated nonetheless. Wasn't it enough that he would just prefer to have her there? He found her presence disproportionately calming, like a teaspoon of oil on wind-swept waters, and they were _together_ now. Why shouldn't she come with him?

"What do you mean, 'why?'" His voice was biting. The corner of her mouth twitched, and if anything, he felt his frown grow darker and more menacing. He could actually see the bottoms of his eyebrows in his peripheral vision as he scowled at her and willed Hermione to come with him to see Dumbledore.

"I'm not sure why you are upset, Con. I simply asked you why you wanted me to come with you today." She cast her eyes back down onto the paper in her hand. He saw her scribbling notes on each of the component ingredients of their modified wit-sharpening potion. She saw him eyeing her work and said, "I'm trying to ameliorate some of the side effects the water jenett will bring to the potion without nullifying the side effect that we actually _want_ to occur – the memory enhancement. We need something to coat and soothe the stomach to avoid the nausea."

"Ginger?" he asked sullenly, yet interested in spite of himself.

"Mmm. The potion has murtlap essence. Not a good combination."

"Marsh mallow?"

She cocked her head and counted out something on her fingers. "A possibility. It follows the correct Arithmantic principles as well." Hermione marked it on her sheet.

They were silent. She had gone back to her work, and Con had firmly settled into a nice brood. Did she not _want_ to come with him? Her fingers flew across the parchment, drawing a complex mathematical matrix in order to more accurately calculate the probable effects of adding marsh mallow to the other ingredients. He was impressed by her facility with numbers. It was something of a turn on. She had several smudges of ink on her hand and he thought about picking up her little palm and sucking the spots off her slender fingers.

Constantine shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps he was taking up too much of her time lately. Was his plan backfiring? He'd been courting her consistently. They'd had long conversations and walks around the lake. (Con had to thank Weasley for that idea, alas.) He'd given her flowers – or rather, they'd grown flowers together – and he touched her every chance he got.

He tucked her hair behind her ear if it fell forward into her eyes. He rubbed her neck if she appeared stiff or sore. He held her hand as they walked to every class except for Transfigurations. He brought her to screaming orgasms with his long-fingered hands whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Rubbing his chin, Con thought about the last item. Granted, it had only been a week since the morning they'd been intimate in the greenhouse, so he hadn't had too much opportunity yet to feel her shatter in his arms. He'd slid his hand up her skirt twice in the greenhouse, twice in the Potions laboratory, once in the niche by St. Belvidere of the Lazy Eye, and twice in the Head Girl's bedroom. He was quite glad she had her own room. Seven times in seven days wasn't too shabby, was it? Con knew he could do better. He wanted to string the peaks of her pleasure together like pearls on a necklace, but it was so _hard_ to find places to be alone with her. …All in the name of binding her to him, of course. Con did so much want an intelligent helpmeet. The fact that he enjoyed her and her company so much was secondary to his future plans.

Maybe he was trying too hard? Taking up too much of her time?

Between her classes, Head Girl duties, the damnable Potions project for Slughorn, their independent research, and homework she didn't have much spare time. Perhaps he was monopolizing her. Con cleared his throat.

"If you are too busy, Hermione, of course I'd understand if you can't come with me. I find your company to be soothing in difficult situations, but I can search you out afterwards if you prefer." He tried to make his voice understanding.

Her head tilted up, and Con was surprised to see an immensely delighted expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and Hermione's eyes were glowing. "Oh!" she said, her voice intimate. "That's lovely. Of course I'll accompany you."

The black-haired boy reached out and ran his fingers over her knuckles, and filed the exchange away for future reference. She smiled at him and pulled her chair closer.

* * *

Professor Slughorn was seated in front of Dumbledore's desk when the two seventh-year students arrived for their meeting with the Headmaster. Con looked enquiringly at the two men seated before him.

"Mr. Prince, Ms. Granger, you are spectacularly on time. Please, please, take a seat." He pointed at two more chairs arranged by his desk. "I've invited Professor Slughorn here to sit in for the first part of our meeting. I hope you don't mind."

"Although Professor Slughorn is an unobjectionable teacher, Headmaster, I had hoped to speak to you alone. There's a matter which concerns me and is confidential."

Dumbledore's white brows lifted slightly. "Ah, of course. However, I'm afraid your confidential matter is not really as private as you might wish it to be. I am, of course, speaking of your memory problems."

Con breathed in deeply in an effort to maintain control of his temper. Hermione reached over and ran her hand over the back of his, and he turned his palm over and interlocked their fingers. "It would have been more appropriate to have disclosed this information to me in private, sir."

"Of course you are right. I'm afraid I'm too used to arranging things as I see fit. You have my apologies, my dear boy." Dumbledore ran his knobby-jointed hand over his long beard. "However, it was absolutely imperative that Professor Slughorn be apprised of your issue, for without him we would have had no hope of ever restoring that which was stolen from you."

"_Stolen_ from me?"

"You were infected with a potion that..."

"A _potion_?" Constantine interrupted."You allowed me to think that I'd lost my memories due to trauma from the war. All this time I've been sitting around, waiting for an inkling of who I was to bleed into me, just an inkling of what it meant to be Constantine Prince and getting nothing, _nothing_… and it was caused by a bloody potion?" Con could feel the fury boiling his insides, churning like acid in his stomach. "We've had a Potions lab at our disposal! Hermione and I could have been doing research to try and reverse the damage." He looked to Hermione for support and was gratified to see her turning an unyielding, poisonous stare upon the Headmaster.

"I understand your anger, Mr. Prince. However, it is misplaced. There was no need for research. We knew the potion, and its antidote. We were just waiting for Professor Slughorn to complete it." He turned to face the Potions professor. "Did you bring it, Horace?"

Con turned to face his professor. Slughorn was staring in sick fascination at where Constantine's and Hermione's hands were linked. His eyes bulged slightly when he saw her hand clasp his tighter in a supportive squeeze. "Are you two dating?" he squeaked.

"I'm not sure how that has any bearing on the business at hand," Hermione grated out. Con disengaged his hand gently from the curly-haired girl's.

Slughorn turned to look at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's blue eyes were steady as he eyed the two students in front of him. "Horace, perhaps it's best to provide Mr. Prince with the antidote sooner rather than later."

"Of course, Albus." He reached into his robes and pulled out a vial full of a crystalline blue potion. "This is the antidote to the Death's Oblivion Potion with which you were infected."

"Death's Oblivion? Antonio Bellacruza, correct? What a bloated popinjay he was." Con reached out a hand and took the antidote from his professor.

"Now… Mr. Prince, don't get your hopes up that your memories will all come flooding back immediately. According to _Moste Potente Potions_, this is just the key to the gates. It can take anywhere from a week to several months to regain all of what you've lost."

Constantine nodded and removed the seal. Carefully, so not a single drop was spilled, he tipped the contents into his mouth and swallowed.

The vial fell from his suddenly numb fingers. He felt something snap at the base of his skull and a rush of heat flooded his mouth. _This must be what a predator feels like_, he mused dazedly. He covered his face until he felt the world start to settle around him, and then he turned his pitch eyes on the Headmaster. He looked different than he had just a few moments before. Dumbledore suddenly seemed frail. Had his perceptions changed? Or had something aged the old man even further? How long had he been standing here? Con couldn't tell if it had been seconds or hours. He turned to Hermione and felt relief when she looked at him with steady, clear waters shining in her eyes. She was still the same, scarred but beautiful, gentle but iron-willed. Con sighed a shuddering breath and stumbled over to her, placing his head in her lap. His eyes closed as she stroked his hair, and he willed the other occupants in the office to cease to exist.

The red, gushing taste left his mouth, and as he came back to himself, he recollected the presence of Dumbledore and Slughorn with shame and pulled gently away from Hermione. He sat back in his own seat, and was confronted by the disgusted eyes of Horace Slughorn and the concerned face of Dumbledore. His breath hissed out through his teeth.

"If you're done getting your jollies watching me and my witch, we have several other questions." Con was forced to swallow the gorge rising in his throat. He still felt quite unwell.

Dumbledore nodded.

Constantine raised his left hand and pointed to the cuff on his wrist. "What is this? Why won't it come off?"

"That is part of a project on which you and several other members of the Order of the Phoenix are collaborating. I'm afraid I can't provide you with further details until you regain your memory. It's quite sensitive."

"So that is why Professor McGonagall is also wearing one? Because she's a member of the Order of the Phoenix?" Hermione interjected.

Dumbledore indicated that she was correct.

"Will I come to any harm from wearing the cuff?" Con's voice was grudging.

"Quite the contrary."

Constantine considered this for a moment before nodding. "I think that's all for now. When I start to regain my memories, may I come back and question you further on the cuff and its properties?"

"You may come back, but you will recognize the power of the cuff once you remember yourself, my dear boy."

Constantine stood up and held his hand out for Hermione. She slipped her fingers into his, and he pulled her to her feet. As they neared the door, the boy suddenly remembered Draco Malfoy and his warning.

"Sir, I have to ask you. Of what relation am I to Severus Snape?"

Dumbledore paused for just a second before stating, "You are no relative of Professor Snape, Mr. Prince."

Con blinked, hearing a ring of falsehood, but he nodded, knowing he would get nothing further from the Headmaster. The two seventh-years politely excused themselves.

* * *

Back in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore slumped into his straight-backed chair.

"Albus, it's an abomination! He's a professor and over twice her age! Why didn't you tell him? He's going to realize it in a matter of weeks anyway! He'll hate you for letting him continue with Ms. Granger unknowing."

"Horace, I'm afraid you are correct." The old man removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his watering blue eyes. "Once Severus knows the truth, he'll be a loaded gun meant for Lucius Malfoy. I need to make sure he's pointed in the correct direction before he discovers the truth."

* * *

_A/N: Aww, man. For once, I thought Dumbledore was moved to help Snape because Snape DESERVES it. I mean, hasn't the man been through enough? Now - I'm sure a big part of Dumbledore wants Severus to have a better life, but I think Dumbledore is just trying to take out a loan wolf. Sigh Come, let me cuddle you in my ample bosom, Severus._

_So, new chappie will go up tomorrow. Hope you guys enjoyed it. _

_Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	14. Chapter 13

_A/N: __**WARNING!! SMUT AHEAD. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ IT, FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS. The first section is totally safe and non-smutty. The second section starts off safe, but skip ahead to the third section as soon as Hermione gets excited about the fifth-century house elf "Cheese Revolt." (Ha, random start to a smutty section, right?) The third section is safe.  
**_

_**This chapter contains strong mature scenes within the "M" ratings guide of FFNet.**_

_BTW, I've had several people ask me how long this story will be, and as it stands currently, it's plotted up to 27 chapters plus an epilogue. So we should be all done in about two weeks. ;P_

_Harry Potter and everything contained herein is the exclusive property of JK Rowling. I just like to write stories where they do dirty things to each other. I make no profit._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

The jenett blossom was encased in a glass box filled with water, and it floated serene in its aquatic environment there on the shelf in the Potions storeroom. Hermione picked it up, careful not to jostle it, and started walking towards Con. The glass box in which the flower was contained was made from sand from a "magical dead spot" in the Serengeti, perfect for blocking out stray spells and magical auras.

They'd discovered, much to their chagrin, that jenett blossoms are ridiculously delicate. After having killed three during the harvesting process, they'd learned that the flower cannot touch open air for even a moment or it will die, their petals falling off like autumn leaves, brown and shriveled before they even touched the ground. When they started dying in the Potions storeroom, it had taken the tragic deaths of five jenett blossoms before they realized that the magic from the surrounding ingredients had poisoned them.

Out of twenty-four seedlings, they'd managed to get eighteen to germinate, and they'd brought fifteen up to full maturity. There were only seven left now, including the one in Hermione's hands and she held it as carefully as she would have a newborn child.

Constantine opened the lid with exquisite precision so as not to expose the bloom. With a delicate silver athame, he dissected the plant while it was still underwater, carefully peeling back the petals and exposing the tender heart. Hermione was mesmerized by his clean, precise movements. His technique was superb, and the girl could honestly say it was rivaled only by Professor Snape's.

"Con," she murmured thoughtfully. "Did you get the impression that Headmaster Dumbledore was being less than truthful about you being related to Professor Snape?"

"Yes, he was definitely hiding something."

"You know, I've been thinking quite a bit lately and you remind me so much of him. The way you look, your voice, even your ingredients preparation is just like his." She cocked her head and looked at him. "Maybe you're his son."

Constantine put down the knife he'd been using to cube the heart of the jenett and turned to face the girl. "You didn't mention whether or not Professor Snape was good-looking. If we are so similar, he must truly be a mighty figure of a man."

Hermione's mouth curled up. She was amused at his blatant request for flattery. "Oh, yes. He's the pinnacle of rugged good looks – skinny, greasy-haired, worn-out, with a beaky nose. You really do look just like him." Reaching up, she tugged on his nose. Con jerked back, and looked affronted. Stiffly, he turned back to the water jenett.

"I'm sorry if my looks offend. Stand back, I'm going to move the heart to the potion." He went to step forward, but Hermione caught his arm between her hands and turned him back to face her. She looked into his dear face, beaky nose and all, and felt a suspicious warmth burn in her chest.

"Constantine."

He looked away, scowling.

"Constantine, I love the way you look. You have very striking features. But more than that, I really like who you are. You are funny and kind and very loyal."

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. "Yes, but… you think I'm handsome?"

"Very much so. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings." Hermione's voice was sweet.

"I'm very sensitive about my nose."

"I can see that. I should have never teased you." She leaned forward and brought her lips to his ear. "Actually, I just adore your nose. I think it makes you look distinguished and very manly."

Constantine stood up straight, and Hermione could see his chest puff up a bit. Boys were so easy. She rubbed his shoulder and smiled at him, and she saw his hard black eyes soften. He ran his lips over her eyebrow.

He turned from her, and picked up the diced jenett heart. "All right. Now to ease this into the potion. How much water is acceptable to add to the base?"

_The Cunning Potions of Edvard Hessleton_ lay open on her workstation desk. "No more than 0.32 liters." There was a full liter in the container holding the heart. Using a bulb with a long nozzle, he sucked water out with painstaking care. The level dropped lower and lower until finally, the heart was just barely covered.

Hermione sucked on her teeth nervously as Con lifted the box containing the jenett and moved towards the cauldron with the rest of the base. One false move, and the water would tilt and expose the heart to air, destroying it in the process. He lowered it into the liquid in the cauldron slowly, so very slowy, and the girl felt like she was going to explode from nerves.

"Oh careful! Be careful, Con!"

He gave her a sardonic look, and then the heart was in the potion. He removed the now-empty glass box from the cauldron. The two seventh-years watched with baited breath as Con used a glass rod to stir the base ten times clockwise. It slowly turned a rich vermillion. Hermione squealed.

"We did it! Now all we have to do is substitute this for the normal armadillo bile base for the Wit-Sharpening Potion, and then…"

Hermione was quite pleased when he stopped her speech with a kiss, and smiled to herself when she felt the tip of his nose brush her cheek. It really was a magnificent appendage. She snuggled against his chest and listened to his heart beat, strong and firm like a drum at a Beltane celebration. Con's hands came up and he lifted her hair and breathed in her scent, as if to imprint her smell upon his foundered memory. Hermione teared up, touched by the gesture.

Constantine suddenly stiffened under her hands. "No, no, no!" he wailed. "What just happened?" She whirled around to face the base, and saw with chagrin that it had turned a pestilent and sticky brown. The jenett hearts bobbed at the top of the Potions, shriveled and dead.

* * *

"Could it have been the marsh mallow? Maybe my calculations were incorrect somehow." She rested her elbows on the library table.

"The day you make a mistake in Arithmancy is the same day I will confuse a bezoar with Seamus's pillow." Con shuddered. "He makes out with it, you know. I think he's practicing."

Hermione and Con stared at each other with horrified eyes for a moment, before looking away in discomfort. She straightened up some papers and Potions text on the library table they were sharing.

"What about the shrivelfig?" she said, clearing her throat.

"It shouldn't react negatively with the jenett. They both share a positive seven redux. If anything, they should enhance each other's effects, not cancel them out. We've run these numbers at least a dozen times. I really don't think it's an ingredient reaction."

They sat in silence while they pondered the issue. They didn't have room for error since there were now only six blossoms left, and winter was closing in – precluding them from growing more.

"It can't be the heat," he murmured. Any cooler, and we won't be able to simmer the armadillo bile. Any hotter and the memory-enhancing properties will be diminished." Con scratched the hair at the nape of his neck. "We've already determined the correct amount and direction of stirs from that enormous equation you solved for us."

Hermione blushed.

"Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed. "It's probably the cauldron material. We're using a cauldron that's quite porous, Con. Maybe there is a magical residue or old ingredients which have leeched into the metal causing a bad reaction with the jenetts."

"Hermione, I think that's it. That's why it didn't react right away. The pollution must be in such minute amounts, it took several minutes to affect the heart. So, we should be okay if we just seal the… no, that won't work… The magic seal will contaminate the potion just as surely as if we left it undone. Should we get a brand new cauldron, then?"

"I think that would definitely work. It'd get expensive though. Why don't we just use a less porous cauldron? Glass, perhaps?"

"You are so smart and sexy."

Con shot out of his seat and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the table. "Oh, our notes!" she said, one hand outstretched towards the piles of texts and papers.

"Leave them," he ground out.

He pulled her into the darkest, most disused corner of the Hogwarts' library, the area devoted to the deadly dull nineteenth century house elf 'Cheese Revolt.' Hermione's eyes widened. Look! A precedent! House elves revolting! I could use this in my work for S.P.E.W."

"I'm not going to even pretend I know what you are talking about right now." Con wrapped his arms around her and nibbled on her ear. "You are the most intelligent witch, I've ever met. Gods, I want you." Like a dam bursting, his mouth crashed down on hers.

The fact that his desire for her was triggered by his appreciation for her intelligence only fueled her arousal to burn brighter. Hermione didn't doubt that he wanted her body, too. The evidence of it was pressing into her belly, but no boy other than Victor had been willing to overlook her bookishness, and here was a _man_ who wanted her _because_ of it. It made her feel as if he really saw _her_ and not just what she could do for him mentally or sexually.

Hermione moaned, excited by how passionate he was. She parted her lips and allowed him to slide his tongue into her mouth. The soft pebbled slide of his tongue on hers was intoxicating, and she felt greedy for more touches and kisses and quiet cries of _yes, yes, more, there_. She fisted her hands in his black hair and tugged him closer roughly.

Constantine picked her up and gently laid her on the floor, before coming down to rest on top of her. His face was buried in her neck, the moist heat of his breath tickling the baby hairs at her nape. His tongue was busy tracing hot, erotic patterns on her jugular and Hermione cried out, a soft jagged noise that sounded as if it was ripped from her belly. Her muscles went weak and her knees parted, and then she was cradling his hips with thighs.

He slid his arm under her neck, and tenderly kissed her mouth. "Oh, Hermione," he breathed quietly. The girl felt as if she was drowning in his magpie eyes which saw something and _wanted _it, and reached out to take it. And because there was no such thing as right or wrong between the two of them, when Constantine reached out to her with yearning arms and his selfish mouth, and she allowed him to take what he pleased.

He flexed his hips, pressing his erection directly against her core. They both paused for a moment, groaning at the sensation. He rocked his hips again, and the tip of his cock pressed against her clit. Hermione cried out loudly against his mouth, an "Oh" of surprise that broke in the middle, and Con laughed quietly.

"No screaming, love. We'll get caught if you don't stay quiet."

Hermione nodded, panting, but when he rocked up against that sweet spot again, her voice broke from her mouth like a bird, soaring out over the library. She clapped her hand over her lips and giggled.

He smiled at the girlish noise and slid down her body, laving hot kisses on her collarbone while his hands unbuttoned her robe until it flapped open at her sides, exposing her school shirt and skirt. Con's lips traveled over the exposed vee of her clavicles and supra-sternal notch, tracking farther and farther down as his naughty fingers undid her shirt a button at a time, until it too was open, exposing her slender form to his hungry eyes.

Her black bra was simple, but fitted perfectly to her curves. Con reached out and touched a tiny bow that graced a strap. "You are so beautiful." He buried his face between her breasts, and she groaned when she felt his tongue slide wetly up her sternum. His teeth nipped over the tight buds of her nipples through the fabric. Hermione arched happily against his mouth. He licked the swells of her breasts, and allowed his hand to slide between their bodies and up her skirt. The fabric was slick between her legs when he coasted his fingers over her soft, matching panties.

Con freed one of her breasts, pulling it out over the cup of her bra. His tongue traced tight circles around her nipple while his finger taunted her by playing at the edge of the scrap of fabric covering her center. He pushed it aside and slid his finger into her quim just as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. Hermione's eyes rolled back and her heels drummed the floor as he slid his index finger in and out of her tight, needy cunny. He slid a second finger into her, and the girl nearly bit through her tongue trying to prevent the cries that wanted to burst from her throat. The wet, sucking noise of his fingers inside of her was an erotic counterpoint to her shuddering breaths.

"Hermione, let me eat you. Please. I want to bury my face between your thighs. Oh _gods_, I want to lick you until you scream." His voice was ragged, and he stared at her with his intense black eyes.

"You are so bloody dirty, Constantine." She pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply, before shoving him off her completely. He rolled onto his back and raised himself up on his elbows to see what she was going to do.

There was a ladder which leaned up against the bookshelf at a forty-five degree angle so that library patrons could reach the top shelf. Hermione seated herself on the third step from the bottom and grabbed a rung several steps above her. "If I let you do this, you have to let me watch you. I can't see anything if I'm flat on my back."

Her legs fell open and Con crashed to his knees in front of her. "Yessss," he hissed. Pushing her skirt to her waist, he bent forward and kissed the crotch of her panties. His tongue swiped a broad stroke through the fabric, travelling from slit to clit. He smirked and Vanished the scrap of black that covered her.

"Oh!" she cried out. "I really liked those!"

"I'll buy you another pair."

His fingers pressed into the soft skin of her thighs, urging her to spread her legs wider so that his shoulders would fit more comfortably, and he'd have a better view of her pink, wet flesh. His thumbs slid her lips apart and she opened to him like a ripe fruit, tender fuzz on the outside and sweet, moist skin on the inside.

"Hermione," he said to get her attention. His dark, secretive eyes met hers, and she had to bite her lip as she watched his raven's-wing head descend to her dripping slit.

His gaze never left hers as he explored her with his lips and tongue with an exquisite gentleness that had her wanting to scream _harder, gods, harder_. He suckled on her lips, and blew on the tufts of hair that covered her mons, and she moaned and squirmed trying to compel him to give her the contact that she so desperately needed. He lowered his lids, and dragged his tongue from her entrance to the bundle of nerves at the top allowing her to feel every blessed inch of it. His lips wrapped lightly around her clit, and he suckled gently, letting the tip of his tongue trace circles around it.

She watched him greedily. His pink tongue looked so wet as it flicked her femininity, and seeing the look of pleasure on his face rocketed her arousal to new limits. He _enjoyed_ doing this to her. Hermione saw him slide the index and forefinger of his right hand into her canal. Constantine pumped her slowly, his lips and tongue continuing to toy with her clit, and his eyes never leaving hers. Once, twice, three times, and Hermione came convulsively, her toes curled tightly and her eyes rolled back into her head. Unable to scream because of their location, she choked and keened her pleasure softly.

Panting, she jerked in aftershocks as Con tenderly lapped at her center several more times, being careful not to over-stimulate her. "You, my dear, are divine," he murmured, pulling her skirt back down and helping her to sit up.

Hermione didn't feel capable of rational speech. "You… that was, I mean. Con, your mouth is so dirty. That was the most arousing thing I've ever seen." She leaned forward and brushed her mouth on his, sharing in her flavor. As her hand slipped to his buckle to free his massively bulging erection, they heard someone approaching through the aisles.

They were on their feet instantly, smoothing their clothing and buttoning their robes. Hermione spared a brief moment to be thankful that loose robes hid a variety of sins from the casual observer, and by the time Madame Pince arrived, they were arguing over the 'Cheese Revolt' in a lively manner.

When the librarian left, Con whispered in Hermione's ear. "Every time you are in the library, I want you to remember the feeling of my mouth on you. I want this branded in your memory so that you'll never forget."

The girl looked at him with wide eyes, and stroked her fingers through his hair.

* * *

As they returned to their table, they noticed Draco and Ron sitting at a table together. Their books were spread out in front of them, but they appeared to be engaged deeply in a conversation. They watched as Ron clapped a friendly hand on Draco's shoulder. The blond Slytherin smiled slightly and rolled his eyes.

"What do you think of that?" Hermione asked Con. He shrugged.

"It's probably a very good thing. They both needed someone to talk to. Why shouldn't they find that in each other?"

"Do you think Draco's safe?"

Constantine cocked his head, considering her question.

"Yes. I should think so."

* * *

_A/N: Holy smokes. That was fun to write. Hope you all enjoyed it. _

_I have a bit of sad news for all of you (although I, of course am ecstatic). I cannot promise to have a chapter posted tomorrow. It is my fourth wedding anniversary and the hubster is taking me out on the town in the afternoon and evening, and I have to go to the stable in the AM to vetwrap a leg, and ride my mare._

_I will try my best though! Please don't send me hate mail. I try to be an accommodating author. ;p_


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Thank you, my dears, for granting me a guilt-free day off yesterday. The horses are splendid, the husband is lovely, the dinner was romantic. The husband (a Remus Lupin type) bought me calla lilies, and took me to a wonderful dinner at a restaurant/wine bar called Domaine Hudson. (It's domainehudson dot com if you want to check it out!) They specialize in wonderful, but obscure wines and create their menus in order to complement the wines, not vice versa. It was LOVELY.

I hope you like this chapter. It's a very important one, and I was thoroughly engaged when I was writing it. ** WARNING: THE FIRST BIT HAS IMPLIED VIOLENCE AGAINST A CHILD. **

Please drop me a review and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

_The child's eyes were a cornflower blue. 'So beautiful,' he thought. She couldn't have been more than four years old by his best guess. Her thumb was tucked in her mouth, and the man thought that he should remove it so her teeth didn't grow in crooked. He ran his hand over her downy blonde head and smiled at her sadly._

'_Gods, it's so sad about her parents. Leaving such a little poppet to fend for herself.'_

_He sat next to her, and pulled the covers up to her chin. There was a ratty stuffed toy bear on the floor next to her bed, and the man picked it up and brushed it off. He smiled at it. The fur was grey and dingy and half loved off, and one ear showed definite signs of sucking. 'Disgusting,' he thought. An eye was dangling by a thread and he cast a quick nonverbal Reparo on it._

_She smiled as he gave it to her._

Con rolled suddenly onto his side.

_Footsteps in the hallway. His stomach clenched. 'No, no, no, no,' he thought. 'Not this one.' A solemn-eyed man with dark brown hair came into the child's room._

"_What are you doing?" His voice was surprising calm._

_He raised a shoulder. _

"_You can't save her."_

_He turned away and smiled at the child, picking up one of her hands. "Look at how small her hands are compared to mine," he showed the solemn-eyed stranger._

"_You're going to get yourself killed if you keep carrying on this way in every bloody house we do."_

"_I know, 'Dolph."_

"_I can't protect you forever."_

"_I know, 'Dolph."_

"_I won't, mate. This is it. The last time." The solemn-eyed man cocked his head. "It tears your soul, kills a part of you. That's why it gets easier every time you do it. It's an act of violence, but for this little baby, it'd be an act of mercy. Walden's downstairs."_

Con groaned and a tear seeped from under his closed eyelid.

"_Your choices are either do it quickly and painlessly, or leave it for the monster. Any other action would get you killed, and she'd still die." The solemn-eyed man turned on his heel and left._

_The man looked down at the child lying on the bed. For the first time, he noticed that she was shaking. Her eyes were such a beautiful cornflower blue._

"_I want my mummy and daddy," she whispered._

_He smiled at her, relieved by her absolution._

"_All right, poppet."_

_He raised his wand._

"_Avada --"_

Con sat bolt upright in bed, a scream choking his throat roughly. He scrubbed shaking hands over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Dismissing his wards, he threw the covers off his legs and bolted from the four-poster. _Hermione_, he thought. He had to see her. The image of her sweet face was a calming influence to his racing pulse, and he felt a need to bury his mouth against her neck and sob.

The image he carried of himself had been shattered. He'd wanted to do something positive in the world; to leave something behind him that made people's lives better. The potion with which he and Hermione were experimenting was the first step to that. But nothing, _nothing_ he did now could make up for his monstrous act in a previous life.

The blue eyes of that little girl haunted him. Her sweet, frightened face that had _begged_ him to make it better, and his only solution was to take her life. Bile stung the back of his throat. He needed Hermione.

He pulled on a soft grey tee shirt and a pair of shoes and raced down the boys' dormitory steps. No one was in the common area, so Con was saved from explaining where he was going as he slipped out into the Hogwarts corridors. The Fat Lady awoke with a snort.

"I'll not keep your secret if you lose points for your House," she yawned.

Con made a rude gesture.

The head girl's and boy's room was down a floor and several corridors over. The seventh-year moved carefully, not rushing, and stopped to listen for footsteps at the junction of each hallway. By the time he reached Hermione's room, his nerves were jangling at high alert.

"Sir Edmond," he whispered. The man sleeping in the portrait opened his eyes.

"What's this now?" Sir Edmond Porpington II straightened himself in his muggle wheelchair, and eyed Constantine shrewdly for all that he'd just awoken.

"Sir Edmond, I need to speak with the Head Girl. It's quite urgent."

The muggleborn geneticist leaned his cheek into his right hand. "If this is truly an emergency, surely it would be better to summon a teacher."

"It's of a personal nature, sir."

The man in the canvas pondered the boy's request. Sir Edmond was quite protective of the Head Girl, and he knew that Constantine Prince was important to her. Hermione and the portrait had struck up a friendship in her third year. She'd just finished reading his 1962 medical treatise, "Blood Markers in the Wizarding Population," and had sought him out when she'd heard he'd had a portrait commissioned in the school. Their friendship had become closer as she grew up, and he'd been delighted when she'd asked to have him placed as the portrait guardian to her rooms.

"I'll see if she'll receive you." The scientist rolled out of frame.

Con waited nervously, his ears straining for any sounds of someone approaching. Sir Edmond was gone for what seemed like ages, and the boy shifted his weight uncomfortably, expecting to be caught by Argus Filch or Mrs. Norris at any moment.

Finally, the man rolled back into the frame and nodded. The portrait swung open slowly and Con climbed through.

Hermione was waiting for him in the common room she shared with Blaise Zabini. The boy's heart thumped painfully when he saw her, and he took her in his arms. His touch was as gentle and careful as if he was handling one of their water jenetts, and she sighed and rested her head on his chest.

"What's wrong, Con?" She pulled back to look him in the face. "Did you have a memory triggererd?"

He nodded, his mouth an unhappy line. "I was dreaming and I remembered something… I remembered something so terrible that seems so inimical to my very nature I don't know how to process it. But it wasn't just a dream, Hermione. I feel it in my very bones that it was truth. The anguish my other self felt was like blood in water – tainting everything, leaving nothing fit to drink."

The girl clutched her house robe more tightly around her figure. Her face was tight. "What did you remember?"

"A child's face, her blue eyes. An act of violence that was all I could offer her. Gods, Hermione. I killed a little girl. Practically a baby. I didn't want to, but I did it all the same." He sat down on the floor, hard. "What happened? How am I this way? I'll never be clean now." Con began laughing hysterically while tears poured down his face. "Gods, how selfish do I sound? I took her life, and I'm worried about myself." He turned horribly dead eyes on the girl standing over him and whispered, "You know the last thing I did before I took her life? I sought absolution from her. A tiny babe, barely cognizant of her own self."

He wanted to beg Hermione to forgive him, to hold him, to fuck him senseless until he forgot the horror. Con wanted her to leave him because he was too weak to leave her, and the only thing he could give her now was broken and useless and probably evil anyway.

"Hermione," he whispered, reaching out a hand to her.

She didn't move.

"Hermione, please." Con didn't know what he was asking for, but he knew it was imperative that he receive it or he'd never move forward again. He might as well lie here on her floor, a desiccated husk of a man, because he'd never been good and never would be if his past was any indication, as if it was a prophecy of what his future held.

He looked at his hand, still hovering foolishly in the air between them, and began to pull it back as if wondering what it had been doing anyway. It had been foolish to hope that she could _see_ him, the real Constantine Prince, and find anything of redeeming value.

"I'll go. You don't have to… I'll go now." Con clambered to his feet, an ungainly wreck of a man.

"Con," she whispered.

"No, you're right to rebuff me. I shouldn't touch you again. You're too…"

"Con," she said, this time with more strength. Hermione reached out to touch his face. "Come upstairs with me."

His mouth opened dumbly.

"I have no words for you. I don't know who this man is… the man who could kill a child and call it a mercy. But I know the man who came to me tonight and collapsed on my floor in remorse. I recognize the man who wants absolution so he can move forward and become the person he wants to be. You, Constantine Prince, are a good man. Come upstairs with me and let me hold you. That's all. Sleep in my arms tonight so I can guard your dreams."

A tiny breath of hope blossomed in his heart, and he allowed the slender girl to pull him up the stairs to her room.

* * *

Con's sleep was untroubled by dreams. He was cocooned in the scent of Hermione's apple blossom shampoo, and his head was pillowed on her breast. The relief he felt at being here, in her arms, bled into his chest so that he could once again breathe and perhaps distance himself from those gentle blue eyes, if only a little. He was drowsing, too exhausted and upset to sleep deeply, and he could feel her fingers stroking through his dark hair. He murmured and rubbed his face on her chest, and her hands skimmed down his bare back.

At 2:17 AM exactly, Constantine bolted upright as if he'd been burned.

Hermione's eyes opened. "More dreams?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't. The pain was too great. It was centralized in his left wrist, directly underneath the copper cuff, and it radiated outwards like ripples in a duck's pond. Each wave of pain was greater than the last until he was nothing but one massive burn. Con cried out, the tendons in his neck standing out in stark contrast as he gripped his wrist so tightly that his knuckles stood out white and fierce.

Falling back to the bed, he began to convulse, oblivious to the frightened girl who crouched at his side.

Pain licked at him, crossing his chest, his legs, his back, his buttocks - hot, sharp flares of agony that ate at him and then faded, only to be replaced by another pain elsewhere. It went on and on, and Con lost track of time. He was falling into an eternity of torment, and when it was finally over, and he laid panting and sweating in his love's bed, he wasn't sure if it had lasted minutes or days.

Hermione watched him in horror. Before her very eyes, wounds bloomed on Constantine's chest and shoulders – red, angry lashes that faded to ropy scars curling around his body. He tossed and turned as each new scar appeared, shaking and crying out at the assault. His face was a terrible rictus of pain, his eyes clenched tightly shut and his lips pulled back to expose his crooked teeth.

It lasted just a few moments. As he lay sprawled across her bed like a wrung-out towel, Hermione dragged her hands over his torso. He was scarred. Terribly. Unthinkably. She bit her lip.

"Hermione." His voice was raw.

She glanced up at his face and started. His black eyes were just as piercing as ever, but now she saw faint lines extending from the outer corners of his lids, a faint webbing of age that hadn't been there before. Faint, but unmistakable lines bracketed the sides of his mouth, telling a story of unimaginable mental agony.

He looked about five years older. Constantine was undeniably still a young man, but now he appeared to be in his early twenties, and as if he'd suffered through some very hard years. Her eyes flicked to his bare chest and she grimaced. His body attested to that fact.

"Hermione, what just happened?"

She reached over to her dresser and grabbed a hand-held mirror. She held it up in front of his face and let him draw his own conclusions.

"Bugger me!" Con whispered. "I'm older than I appeared. Of all the…" He ran shaking fingers over the faint crow's feet, and turned to look at Hermione. She wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea I was older than you." She still wouldn't look him in the eyes. "Please, forgive me. I don't understand what's happening."

The girl _couldn't _look at him. It was as if all of the disconnected clues they'd been examining had finally fallen into place showing her the big picture, and a suspicion that Hermione had been harboring cagily in the back of her mind bloomed into a frightening, eldritch certainty. Reaching out gentle fingers, she traced the long, ragged scar that ran like the Nile down his chest.

"It's all right," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "It's all right, Con, because I love you, you see. I love you, no matter what age you are."

She pulled him tightly to her and laid back down, a tear tracking silently from the corner of her eye. Hermione cried because in the end, she knew she'd lose him to himself.

* * *

"Cor, mate. You look like hell!" Ron's voice was muffled by a mouthful of toast and tea.

Con smiled without humor. "I had a bad night." He reached out and served himself a scoop of eggs and a rasher of bacon. "As much as I'd like to enjoy breakfast, I'd prefer to enjoy my own and not yours. Please shut your mouth so no more food falls onto the table or back into the serving bowls."

"Must have been some night! I mean, you look like you've aged four or five years." Harry's voice was enquiring.

"Nightmares," Con said shortly.

Harry and Ron nodded, patted their friend on the back, and wisely dropped the subject.

The dark-haired man twitched, feeling someone's eyes upon him. Scanning the Great Hall surreptitiously, he finally found the source of his discomfort. Dumbledore was watching him with an expression that, on anyone else, Con would have called dread. He scowled at the Headmaster, his expression thunderous. He _knew_ that the old coot had something to do with this. He had far too much power over him and far too much experience at manipulation to be blameless. He determined to corner him as soon as possible.

Dozens of owls swooped into the Great Hall bringing the daily mail delivery. Hedwig, Potter's snowy owl, dropped a bundle of letters in front of Harry.

He blushed. "Fan mail," he said, almost ashamed.

Pigwidgeon, the Weasley's owl, flew to Ron and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet in his bowl of porridge. He cleaned the mess off and snapped it up to read the news.

His face suddenly went pale, and he choked on the sausage he had been swallowing. "Harry," he said, showing him the paper.

"Oh, no! Oh, no, no, please." Harry's face crumpled.

Wordlessly, Ron handed Hermione the paper.

"**Renowned Auror and Member of the Order of the Phoenix, Alastor Moody Killed in Line of Duty"**

"Oh, poor Mad-Eye!" She scanned the contents of the article. "He was tracking down a suspected cell of Death Eaters, and when he and his team went to apprehend them, he took a stray Diffindo across the jugular. He bled out quickly, and was pronounced dead at the scene at 2:17 AM this morning."

Her eyes widened suddenly, and she grabbed Constantine tightly on the arm. "Look," she whispered, pointing at a recent picture of Alastor Moody.

There, on Mad-Eye's left wrist, was a copper cuff.

* * *

_A/N: So there you have it. I hope you guys liked it!_

_Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	16. Chapter 15

_A/N: For your reading pleasure, I present to you chapter 15. It's a bit of a transitional chapter, but it deals with some pretty important themes and plot points._

_Let me know what you guys think! Love ya!_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Lucius Malfoy looked at the Potions rack before him. It was all that remained of the Dark Lord's supply, and every single bottle contained the spidery scrawl of Severus Snape. He smirked, pleased at the irony of having taking down the powerful dark wizard using one of the man's own concoctions.

The aristocrat didn't know too much about Potions. He considered himself above such quotidian details. If he wanted a Headache Potion, he'd have one sent around from the apothecary. If he wanted to poison an enemy, he'd hire someone to do it. He was a Malfoy, after all. It wouldn't do to sully his hands.

Lucius had made an exception for Severus Snape, though. The blond gritted his teeth. The Malfoy name had suffered dramatically upon the fall of the Dark Lord. They'd linked their fortunes to his rise quite literally as well as figuratively, and when that Potter brat had killed him, working on information provided by Snape the Traitor, Lucius had found his head on the chopping block. It had taken half his remaining fortune to grease the wheels of the Wizengamot, and he'd _still_ had to serve six months in Azkaban for his kidnapping and pleasures with Potter's Mudblood slut and his girlfriend.

Well, no use crying over spilled blood, after all.

It had been one of his more inspired ideas to coat his blade with a deadly poison. Snape had always been a crack duelist, and Lucius knew that he didn't even have a fifty/fifty chance to beat him one-on-one. So, of course, he had stacked the odds. He'd waited on the dark-haired wizard in Hogsmeade, knowing that he'd have to make a run for Potions ingredients before the start of term. He'd brought McNair with him – a Death Eater who'd always had a hard on for killing Snape even before he'd been outed as a traitor.

He also coated his knife with the deadliest-sounding poison he could find in the remnants of the Dark Lord's Potions chest. With a name like "Death's Oblivion," Lucius figured even a small cut would drastically have increased his likelihood of ending the Potions master's life. And he'd gotten much more than a small cut on the man. The wound had crossed from shoulder to hip and bled profusely.

Malfoy shivered slightly, remembering the pulse of blood that grew weaker and slower as the traitor bled out on the ground in front of him.

His only regret was that he hadn't gotten to see the man die. The meddling auror Nymphadora Tonks had Apparated him to the gates of Hogwarts before his end came. Lucius licked his lips. It was a big regret, really. He'd have liked to watch those beady black eyes as the life drained out of them. Maybe cut him up a little bit.

Did he go easily? Was the poison painful? He hoped the symptoms were delightful – vomiting, voiding of the bowels, delusions, hysteria. Anything to steal the blasted spy's dignity. Did Albus Dumbledore hold Snape's hand while he shit himself?

Malfoy chuckled at the thought and poured himself a glass of Ogden's 100 Year Reserve Firewhiskey. He deserved a bit of entertainment and crossed to his bookshelves to read of Severus Snape's final moments. _1,001 Dark Potions_ probably contained the details for which he was searching. Groaning under the weight of the massive tome, he settled into his leather wingback chair and opened to the "D" section.

He skimmed the entry, and then went back and read it again to make sure that he hadn't lost his mind entirely.

**Death's Oblivion – Invented in 1372 by Antonio Bellacruza. A Grade III memory suppressor, this Potion is no longer in common circulation. With the invention of the Obliviate spell in 1412, a cheaper and easier memory modifier, Death's Oblivion fell into disfavor. **

Malfoy ground his teeth together in frustration and threw his glass against the wall, letting forty-five galleons worth of liquor trickle down his family's residence.

_Where was he, then?? _If Nymphadora Tonks, his charming niece-in-law, had managed to get him back to Hogwarts, there's no doubt that Albus Dumbledore would have taken a hand in hiding Snape.

His eyes flashed to his writing desk which contained the most recent letter from his disappointing progeny.

"…_I made a few discreet enquiries, Father, and it does not appear that Constantine Prince is any relation to Severus Snape. And even if he was, he hardly seems worth your time. He's a dreadfully dull sort, always working on Potions experiments with his mudblood girlfriend, Granger…"_

Lucius had known Snape as an eighteen year old, and Constantine was his spitting image. That combined with his interest in Potions, his last name, his acerbic wit, and his love for mudblood Gryffindors seemed like too much of a coincidence. Could it be?

Could Constantine Prince actually be Severus Snape in disguise?

If anyone could affect that level of disguise on the traitor, it would be Dumbledore. Lucius laughed lightly. The Headmaster really _was_ losing his marbles. Surely, if he'd wanted to hide Snape, it would have been more effective to send him to Europe or America. Why would the codger hide the man amongst the student population with a face he was _bound_ to recognize, and a name that set off alarm bells? His eyes suddenly narrowed.

Dumbledore was either a senile old fool, or he was laying Snape on the sacrificial altar. Maybe both. He looked back at the letter.

"…_always working on Potions experiments with his mudblood girlfriend, Granger…"_

Malfoy remembered how protective young Snape was of the frizzy-haired harridan. He smiled slowly. Perhaps he should extend another invitation to Ms. Granger.

* * *

­­­­Con had taken to sleeping in Hermione's room most nights. He found that lying wrapped around her slim frame tended to keep most of the nightmares away, although it could do nothing against the memories that encroached upon him. The air he breathed was thick with them, filling his lungs with remembered tears and beatings and the terror of the full moon. But even those nights when he _remembered_ something were easier if he was at Hermione's side.

Sometimes she would hold him and stroke his hair and tell him that she loved him. Sometimes she would slide down his body and take his limp cock in her mouth and suck him down her throat until he was so focused on her hot mouth that it drove every other thought from his head. Sometimes she'd distract him by telling the boy of her own childhood before she'd lost her parents to Voldemort's madness.

Con hadn't told her that he loved her yet.

Although he thought it fairly obvious that he did. He thought he might very well expire from the sheer quantity of love for his curly-headed Gryffindor that was crammed into his slender chest. But he hadn't told her that.

It wouldn't be fair to her.

He had no idea who he was and what he'd already seen of his past was so horrible that to afflict her with it would make him half a man.

But gods, he loved her. And so, knowing that this couldn't last forever, he reveled in every touch she bestowed upon him. He inscribed every kind word on his leprous memory. He curved his arm around her waist in possession that wasn't possession at all but instead a farewell.

At that particular moment, they sat in the Gryffindor common room on the couch that was turned to soak in the fire. Hermione's head was on his shoulder. Their hands were entwined. Dissatisfied at their distance, he reached over and picked the slight girl up and placed her in his lap.

* * *

Hermione allowed Con to pull her into his lap and wrap his arms around her. She'd take every crumb of affection he'd give her, because she knew it would all end the minute he realized he was Severus Snape.

She supposed that she should feel some sort of existential moral crisis about the situation in which she found herself. First, she was in love with and physically intimate with her professor. Most people would find that reprehensible on both of their parts. Mentally, she batted the thought away. She would feel no guilt for perpetuating love in a world that knew far too little of it, especially coming on the heels of such a dark and cancerous war.

Second, and she believed that this was the issue that Con would find much more difficult should he find out about it, was that she _knew_ who he was and she really should tell him. If she was honest with herself (and she always tried to be), she did feel guilty about that. However, Hermione knew that she wouldn't have him for long and the evil that had already been perpetrated against both of them at Dumbledore's hands would be made no worse if she kept him for herself the week or two she had left with him.

Hermione was rather surprised at herself. She had never expected that she would act as selfishly as she was right then. By all rights, she and Con should be marching into Dumbledore's office with all the righteous fury they could muster. Constantine had stated flat out that Hermione was his girlfriend, and the Headmaster hadn't batted an eye. The girl surmised that he had hidden Severus Snape amongst the student population to offer him some small measure of protection from whoever attacked him.

But why keep it a secret in the face of their affection?

She turned her face into Con's neck and breathed in his scent.

Hermione was waiting for it all to come crashing down around them. But, in the meantime, she did not falter in her affections.

* * *

Draco stood on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, and watched Ron test-flying his Firebolt 2X. He sighed, watching the red-head lurch awkwardly around the field. It was like letting a one-armed imbecile handle a priceless family heirloom. Weasley galumphed around the field, and Draco finally understood why Potter never let his friend out of the Keeper's goal. Where Ron, with his repellent, tentacular arms topped with enormous fan-like hands, was a superb Keeper, he wouldn't even be able to keep up in any other role.

The boy landed finally and handed Draco back his broom. His face was flushed with pleasure, and Draco felt a painful warming in his cold, Malfoy heart. He pounded his chest, misdiagnosing the pain as heartburn. How was he to know it was affection, after all?

"Thanks, mate. That broom is brilliant."

"It's a good broom, but you are truly an atrocious flyer. Ginny would have mopped the floor with you."

Ron's face fell. "Yeah, she was a superb Quidditch player, wasn't she?"

Draco just nodded, and the two walked over to sit in the stands.

"So, you and she…" Ron looked at him expectantly.

"Gods, no. We were just friends, Weasel. But… I was quite fond of her. And not that I would have minded more, you know. Quite the looker, your sis." Draco made a somewhat crude gesture in the air to denote that she had massive breasts in which he would have loved to bury his face. He did it simply because he knew it would irk the redhead.

"Oy! Watch it!"

Malfoy smirked, and the corner of Ron's mouth twitched slightly.

"So how did you two ever become friends, anyway?"

"I overheard her arguing with Milicent Bulstrode about the Holyhead Harpies and what a rubbish team they were. I thought that was a particularly unfair assessment and very politely – Malfoys are always polite, you know – showed her what a completely moronic and poorly-developed statement that was. We got so wrapped up in it, we didn't even notice that Millie had slunk away and it was approaching curfew. She looked at me, and she had those piercing eyes, you know? She looked at me and said, 'Well, Ferret. Looks like we don't have time for you to admit defeat and perform an act of contrition for your blasphemy. Same time tomorrow so we can finish this, then?'"

Ron laughed lightly.

"Eventually, we argued less and less and talked more and more. She was just… I felt like sometimes she was the only one who saw me for me. With her, I was just a berk who liked Quidditch, and it was such a relief! Lord, I don't think I can explain how good that felt." His mouth turned down. "I miss her a lot, you know. I didn't love her, but I always felt the _potential_ was there. Not that it mattered. I'd never have done anything because she just would have become a target for my father." Draco's eyebrows pulled together as he pondered the bitter irony in that statement.

"I miss her, too."

"You've got the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Snog-Her at your beck and call. Why don't you ever talk about her to him? You've got a built-in audience."

"Harry is trying to bury the hatchet between the two of you. Why won't you let him?"

"Touché, Weasel. I'll spill my guts, but you have to spill yours, first."

"Right. I guess there are a couple of reasons. The first is that you hear all the time how people die. Husbands and wives get left behind. They mourn, and it's sad, you know? But they always move on. People get remarried. Harry's like that. He's still young, and I know that he'll sit and cry with me, maybe wrap an arm around my shoulders, but the day will most likely come when he fancies another girl. Could be Katie Bell. Maybe one of the Patil twins. Who knows? But it's not like that for me. She was my only sister, and that can't be replaced." Ron swallowed tightly, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"That doesn't mean his grief isn't real. Whoever he ends up with, he'll probably love in an entirely different way than he loved your sister." Draco rolled his eyes. "Ugh, listen to me defend The-Boy-Who-Has-A-Hygiene-Problem. You're absolutely right. It's not the same. Harry can rot in hell. What's the other reason you won't talk about this with him?"

"I know it's illogical, but… He was good enough to defeat Voldemort. Why couldn't he save my baby sister?" Ron's mouth quivered as he tried to control his emotions. "It's the same reason I can't talk to Hermione about it. I'm so glad she made it home safe, but how come she survived when Ginny didn't?" Tears rolled silently down the red head's face, and his nose turned a shade of red that Draco thought clashed horribly with his coloring.

The two sat in silence together as they watched the sun go down. Draco didn't look at Ron while the Gryffindor composed himself. _It's not because I'm being polite_, he told himself. _It's because I think I'll retch if I look over at him and see him all blubbery and snotty._ He told the lie to himself quite successfully, and gave himself a mental pat on the back. After all, haven't Malfoys always excelled at self-delusion?

"So, why won't you let Harry bury the hatchet between you two?"

Draco shifted his weight and tucked his right ankle over his left as he lay sprawled over several seats. Ron waited patiently for his response.

"Sometimes, I think our rivalry is the only thing that keeps me going. I wake up in the morning and just go through the motions. Get dressed, eat, act the prat, you know. Crabbe and Goyle are dead. My father's a lunatic. My mother's an alcoholic. Ginny's gone. The only part of my day where I feel alive is when I spar with Potter. I spar with Potter for the same reason I befriended you. It makes me feel a little closer to _her_."

Ron clapped the Slytherin on the shoulder.

"Don't pity me," Draco snarled. "You're just as pathetic, you know!"

Ron was surprised. "Of course I am. And don't I know it?" He settled back into his seat. "Too bad we didn't get to see Ginny play this year. She'd have whipped our sorry team into shape. She was a right harridan last year, you know. Thought people weren't putting forth enough effort." He put on a high-pitched, girlish voice. "_Just_ because some people are focusing on fighting an evil megalomaniac, _doesn't_ mean they should play worth rubbish! Honestly, Harry! Have you got elbows instead of hands?"

Draco breathed deeply through his nose before responding. "Trust me, I know. I heard all about it."

* * *

_A/N: And there you have it. I do think Draco might be in a bit of denial about his feelings for the late Ginevra Weasley, but I'm not going to tear his security blanket from him in this fic. Maybe one day I'll write a follow up fic where Draco Figures. Things. Out. Just a thought._

_Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	17. Chapter 16

_A/N: __**WARNING!! SMUT AHEAD. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ IT, FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS. The first section is totally safe and non-smutty. The second section is all smut. Skip it if you don't want to read it. The third section is safe although it does mention nudity.  
**_

_**This chapter contains strong mature scenes within the "M" ratings guide of FFNet. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN.  
**_

_I hope you guys enjoy this. I also hope you get an Alert because I've been having some issues where I am not receiving notification of reviews and my Alerts aren't getting sent. The one from yesterday just got sent today. / Oh wells. _

_Finally! The moment arrives that many of you have been waiting for!!_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

When Con entered Hermione's common room, she was waiting for him. She sat demurely on the couch, her legs tucked up under her, and he smiled at her. She patted the cushion next to her, inviting him to sit.

"Remember anything new?" She didn't look at him.

"Not really. I did get one more memory of me being terrified of the full moon. If I hadn't already been at Hogwarts for three and a half months, I'd say I was a werewolf." It was a feeble attempt at a joke, and it dropped like a stone in the silence.

"Are we nearly done with Madame Pomfrey's medicinal potions for the month?"

"Yes. I sent up the last batch just tonight."

The silence that grew between them was an awkward thing, cobbled together from fear and loathing and desperate love.

"Con…" Hermione's voice was tentative.

He looked at her with his dark, magpie eyes – all craft and cunning.

"Con, aren't you tired of waiting? Don't you want me?"

His mouth opened, and the word fell from it without his conscious volition. "Yes." He looked surprised. The boy hastened to clarify. "Of course I want you." He leaned forward until his mouth was just above her ear, and his hot breath tormented her. "I want you so much that I fantasize about you nonstop. I picture sinking into your tight, little quim and riding you until you scream my name."

Hermione's eyes dilated with pleasure and arousal.

"Then why are we still waiting? Because the gods know, I want you too." She ran her hand down his chest.

"It wouldn't be fair to you. We don't know who I am or what I am. Everything that I remember…" Con swallowed and decided to lay his cards on the table. "Hermione, everything that I remember just reinforces the fact that I'm not a good person. What if I remember that I'm a monster? I'd never inflict that upon you. And if that's the case, it wouldn't be fair to you if I'd already slept with you."

The girl sighed and grabbed his face between her little hands. "You stupid berk. That's my decision. And if you do decide to leave me, no matter who you are or what you were, I'm going to grieve for you whether or not we've had sex." She gently kissed his lips. "And if you leave, I'd rather have the memory of you between my thighs to keep me warm in my lonely bed."

He stared at her intently, and ran his thumb over her lip. Hermione could see him thinking, and took the opportunity to study his dear face, trying to imprint him upon her memory exactly as he was right now. Con looked tired. She bit her lip. With the pensive, Snape-like expression on his face, she wondered how she hadn't seen it sooner.

She asked him, "Would you regret being with me if you found out later that we could not be together?"

Constantine's expression firmed. "Never, Hermione. Never! You will always be dear to me, and our time together will be one of the few positive memories that I will take with me that rises above the mire of my previous life." His fingers stroked down her jaw lightly. "My only thought was to spare you in case I was… something dark."

The girl took his hand and stood up. "Come upstairs with me."

He nodded and followed her to her room.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

Hermione was unbearably excited. Her face was flushed with passion as she ran her hands down Con's chest and past, shaping her hand to the erection already straining against his trousers. She made a thrumming noise in appreciation of his blatant masculinity, and licked her lips. The girl knew that for all of his words downstairs, Con was still weighing the pros and cons out in his head, wondering if he was doing right by her no matter what she said. That was not how she wanted him. Hermione wanted her lover to be wild and focused and too busy to think because his hands were all over her. She herded him towards her bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge, and she pushed him firmly onto his back, waiting only a second before she slid on top of him. _Oh, that's nice_, she thought, giving a happy wriggle. Her knees separated and she sat up, straddling his narrow hips.

She looked down at him and found Con watching her with hot, dark eyes. Curling her hands around the hem of her night shirt, she slowly pulled it off over her head. His eyes burned every inch of skin that she exposed to him, tantalizingly slowly, and his breath started coming faster. One of his long-fingered hands reached between them and covered a breast, and he thumbed her nipple gently until the breath hissed between Hermione's teeth. Gods, this had waited far too long for them.

She pulled his hand off of her breast and raised it to her lips. Hermione sucked his index finger into her mouth, in and out, in and out, letting him feel the moist heat of her tongue as she wrapped it around his digits. She nipped the pad of his finger, and she felt him grow massively hard as he pressed against the apex of her thighs. Growing experimental, she pulled his wet fingers from her mouth with a pop and dropped them to her breast. She arched into his hand and moaned, rocking rhythmically on him.

Con exploded out of bed with a snarl, and in an instant, Hermione was pinned beneath his weight. The man was ruthless. He kissed her as if he were trying to make up for the future they both knew they didn't have, and she cried out and opened her lips to him. He sank into her mouth, their tongues snaking against each other wetly, and the girl moaned as if it were torn from her chest like a living thing. Her mouth felt bruised, and their teeth would occasionally snick against each other, but it was such a release to finally be together that neither one of them cared and instead, they pushed against each other's lips just that much harder.

Con tore away from her mouth and kissed his way down Hermione's body, stopping at the waistband of her pajamas. He ripped them off her without a second's hesitation, and she lay completely exposed before him. The girl shivered uncontrollably, and it had everything to do with the fact that she was totally naked before him while he was still fully clothed and nothing at all to do with December in Scotland.

"God, Hermione. You are so beautiful. You have no idea how long I've wanted to be where we are right now." He slid his hands up under her hips and lifted her up a little to his mouth, and then Con's lips and tongue were on the molten core of Hermione's body, and she thought she would explode right then and there. He eagerly licked her, savoring every jolt of pleasure that went through her slender frame, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she struggled to pull Con away, and he strained forward to taste her more. It was nearly too much, and Hermione thought that she was going to come tight against his mouth and then die of toe-curling pleasure.

When Con did pull back it was just so that he could ease two of his fingers inside of her, and then he settled back to his meal as he ate her and slid his fingers in and out, in and out, until Hermione was screaming with frustration, and he was moaning against her, and _oh god_, that was good, too. But Hermione didn't want to come alone, not this time, and she cried out, "Con, PLEASE!" He unbuttoned his pants and freed his erection, and then he pinned her hands above her head and watched her face as he filled Hermione to the hilt in one sure stroke.

He was bigger than she had anticipated, and Hermione struggled to analyze this feeling of complete fullness. Her eyes fluttered back and rolled into her head, and she raised her hips to accommodate his length. Con slowly started to pull out and she whimpered, dissatisfied until he thrust back in and the girl wriggled in pleasure under him. He rocked against her, pushing fractionally deeper, and Hermione cried out his name and pulled him in even tighter with her hands on his bum.

Con gritted his teeth so hard the girl thought they were going to crack, and he began thrusting rhythmically. Hermione wondered if she was going to die, and later all she could remember was watching her feet bounce in the air and thinking, "My feet are going to be the last thing I ever see." And as his pace began to speed up, and she felt him bite her on the shoulder with his sharp, crooked teeth, her world contracted until it contained only the locales where there bodies were touching. Hermione was totally fine with that.

Con thrust harder and harder and Hermione's lips were parted to draw as much air as possible into her body, and every time he sank in, little ah's of air would escape her throat and echo crystalline between them, each one a small pleas to keep going. And he did. Until finally Hermione crested and fell a thousand feet, screaming as she went. Con followed her, arms wrapped tightly around her, her legs around his waist, and as he did, he cried, "Hermione, Hermione," and she was content.

Con collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her neck. Hermione didn't say anything when she felt his tears on her skin, but just wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

"Promise me," she whispered. "Promise me that if it's at all possible for us to be together, no matter what people say or do, that we'll try. Promise me that you won't let your stubborn pride get between us." Hermione's face was fierce. Con pulled his face from her neck, and his eyes, as a counterpoint, were the softest she'd ever seen.

"I promise," he leaned and forward and kissed her. "If it's at all possible," he suckled on her lower lip. "I'll come back to you."

Con rolled onto his back, pulling Hermione on top of him. He was still inside of her, and she was in no hurry to sever the connection between them. Her head was pillowed on his chest, when her brow suddenly furrowed.

"That was really good," she said, almost sullenly. Hermione could feel his thrum of surprise at her sudden change in tone. "I bet you've slept with lots of witches before me." She picked herself up on her elbows and looked Con in the face.

He laughed suddenly, a warm, brown sound. Hermione was affronted and tried to sit up, but he held her captive in his arms.

"It hardly counts if I can't remember, my dear. Besides, no matter who came before, you are the only one that matters to me. Surely you must know that by now."

"Oh," Hermione whispered. "That's nice."

Con loosened his hold on her, and she sat up, once more straddling his hips. His eyes perused her body with an appreciative gleam. Hermione knew how she must look with his bite mark upon her, and her hair tousled and her lips swollen from his kisses… perfectly wanton. He tucked his hands behind his head and watched her, and the girl felt him harden slightly inside her. Hermione was fascinated. "So soon?"

He shrugged nonchalantly and grinned. Con stopped smiling when she squeezed him with her interior muscles, and he raised his hips slightly in pleasure. Hermione squeezed again, milking him slowly and rhythmically, and Con's hands reached out and found her waist. She could feel his interest as he watched her face flush, and he saw the way she ran her hands down her body, stopping to toy with her breasts and pert nipples. Oh yes, Con was very, very interested. Impatient and restless beneath her suddenly, Hermione held him tightly and refused to let him move. If anyone had been watching them, the only movement they would have seen was his hands flexing on the sheets. "Christ, Hermione," he ground out. He sat up and scooted back to lean against the headboard. She used the opportunity to divest him of his shirt finally. The sight of his broad chest, ropy and scarred and lithe, stimulated the girl so much that she licked her thumb and forefinger and reached out and pinched his nipple.

Con cried out and bucked up against her. Hermione ground down with her hips, and gave a small moan of appreciation. She felt his pulse in her belly. She squeezed him slowly and firmly until he couldn't take it any more, and he reached out and grabbed the girl around her waist, lifting her three or four inches before slamming her back down on his erection. _Oh_. She hadn't quite realized she could do that.

Putting her hands on his shoulders, Hermione braced her knees and shimmied up his cock before sliding back down to glorious fullness. She did it again. And again. She put her hands on the bed behind her and arching backwards slightly, she rocked on his erection. Con leaned forward and buried his face in her breasts, but patiently let Hermione have her way with him any way that she wanted. She felt heady with the power of being in control, but he was enormous and as hard as steel, and she was ready for him to take over. Hermione looked down at him, and he correctly interpreted her expression.

Constantine gently pushed her off of him and stood up while Hermione lay on the bed, splayed and languorous from wanting him so badly. He stripped, finally removing his pants (which had been pulled low enough to expose his bum and erection, but no farther), and leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. Hermione pulled him on top of her, but he stopped and slid a pillow under her hips. Con wrapped a hand around both of her ankles and ever so gently raised them in the air. He spread Hermione's legs wide, careful not to hurt her, and she felt the head of his penis sliding up and over her clit. She cried out, shocked. Again, he rubbed the bulbous head against her clit, before sliding into her, stretching her.

It was so deliciously tight that she groaned and tried to spread her legs even farther. Briefly letting go of one of Hermione's ankles, Con grabbed her hand and put it on her lower belly and pushed lightly. She gasped.

"I can feel you inside of me," she cried out. He slid out and slipped in again. "Oh my god," she cried out, absolutely bewitched by this discovery. Con let go of her hand and took her ankle again. He leaned forward so that Hermione's lower back was curved and off of the bed. Slowly, but with a grinding pressure she found delicious, he slid in and out, his turgid length stretching her, and his belly hitting her clit every time he pushed in close. Hermione arched her hips, and he bit his lip and slammed into her.

"Gods, be careful Hermione. I am so close you have no idea." His voice was ragged and strained and Con made as if to pull back for a moment, but she pulled him back in with her hands on his low back, and he broke. He cried out and pumped his hips against her and with every thrust, she slid back an inch on the bed until her hands were above her head and she was bracing herself on the headboard so that her head didn't bang against it. Con reached between their bodies and rubbed her clit with his thumb and Hermione exploded and he exploded, and in that moment, they both knew that they'd never find this again if circumstances drove them apart.

Con held her tightly, as if someone was trying to steal her from him.

* * *

That night, as the two Gryffindors lay entwined and naked, Constantine dreamed of a beautiful red-headed girl with flashing green eyes who had turned from him. He felt a sharp pain momentarily in his chest, but then he let his past go and turned to his lover with her faithful heart.

* * *

_A/N: I hope it lived up to your expectations! Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	18. Chapter 17

_A/N: Here's the next chapter. WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE DEPICTED AND IMPLIED RAPE. BE WARNED AHEAD OF TIME, AND __**DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN**__. For those who are not into smut, if you just push ahead to the italics, you will avoid every mention of it (although there isn't much.)_

_So here's chapter seventeen. I hope you guys like it!_

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Perfect. The base is absolutely perfect." Hermione sat back and looked at the vermillion potion in front of her. "Thank the gods, because we only had two jenetts left."

"Well done, Hermione," Con said proudly.

"Well done, Constantine," she said, smiling.

"We have just enough time to brew the Wit-Sharpening Potion and send it off to St. Mungos for testing."

The two seventh-years smiled at each other, perfectly in accord, and set to work.

Hermione ground the scarab beetle carapaces in an alabaster mortar and pestle while Con powdered the centaur hoof. They moved seamlessly, each seeming to know instinctively what the other needed. She handed Con the stirring rod before he asked. He diced the crottin roots at a glance from Hermione. They were done in thirty minutes. They decanted the Potion and portioned it out into thirty individual doses in preparation for clinical tests.

Con wrapped his arms around the girl's waist. "We've done all we can for now, Hermione. We've got thirty minutes until dinner." He kissed her on the lips. "Want to play? The Potions Lab hasn't been christened yet." His lips closed around her earlobe.

"Honestly. There's a _reason_ for that, idiot. Whatever happened to practicing safe Potions procedu-" Her voice broke in the middle of the last word as he lifted her up to sit on her workstation. The man made short work of the buttons on her shirt, and smiled when he saw that she was wearing a front-clasping bra. That too had to go.

He reached forward and pressed her breasts together so he could suck both of her nipples into his mouth.

_The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air, and the man heard sobbing._

Con raised his head. "Do you hear-" Hermione lunged forward and covered his mouth with her own. Her small hand slid down his front and worked at his belt buckle. He groaned happily, and his fingers tightened on her thigh.

_There was a bonfire in the middle of a clearing surrounded by figures covered in pristine black robes, their faces covered in silver masks. Kneeling at the foot of a tall-backed chair was a woman. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back._

'_Dorcas Meadows,' his mind supplied._

Hermione was placing biting little kisses down his neck. "Stop." She didn't, and Con pushed her away from him. "Stop for a moment." He craned his neck. "I hear-"

"_Little Dorcas… So difficult. So beautiful. So meddlesome. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" The voice came from nowhere, a rich black tang of shadows._

"_Anything to make your life more difficult, half-blood." The woman laughed fiercely and then spit on the ground. Her spittle was tinged red with her blood._

"_I don't want you to think I don't… _admire_ your spunk. In fact, I think you are quite fascinating. It will keep you alive a bit longer." Glowing red eyes appeared deep in the shadows near the throne-like chair. "…Although you may wish it hadn't."_

Con pulled back completely from Hermione. He didn't want to touch her while he experienced this nightmare.

"Are you okay?" Hermione was clutching the edges of her shirt together, and looking at him with a concerned expression on her face.

He waved her off and turned away, trying to grasp at the tenuous thread of memory. It was horrifying and left a rancid taste in his mouth, but it was who he had been, who he was, who he might still be. Con wrapped his mind tightly around the glare of those red eyes, and the fear he could taste on the back of his tongue.

"_Lucius, why don't you make Ms. Meadows more comfortable?"_

_A man with a platinum waterfall of hair stepped forward and eagerly dropped his mask. Malfoy's grinning face swam before his eyes. The pureblood pulled something from his pocket and set it on the ground._

"_Engorgio," he hissed, grinning at Dorcas while the object grew in size. It was a fame of wood and metal, cruel and impersonal in its simplicity. Four manacles graced the edge of the contraption, and Lucius strapped the captured member of the Order into them while he whistled a jaunty tune. "There, my dear! This becomes you so well." Malfoy leaned forward and wrapping his fingers around her face to hold her still, he gave her what appeared to be a tender kiss._

_The man watching knew better._

_When Lucius pulled his face away, her blood dripped from both of their faces. The blond spit a gobbet of her lip from his mouth. A slow, genial smile spread over his face, growing like a living, organic creature, and his eyes burned in pleasure._

_Dorcas Meadows said nothing, did nothing, showed nothing. She was an impassive, fearless creature, and the man watching felt his heart feel with a fierce pride in her strength of will._

_Malfoy pet her hair softly. "I rather fancy myself in love with you. I've always been rather shallow, though so I can't be sure that what I call love is what everyone else would. I'll elucidate, Dorcas. I love the softness of your skin." He ran the tip of a wickedly sharp boning knife down the underside of her arm. The faintest line of red bloomed on her skin, crawling drops of blood blossoming like a fairy tale vine on a tower of white. "It gives so nicely to my knife. Perhaps I'll keep it? Keep your softly turned limbs and winter-fair skin." Lucius pinched the top of her arm and pulled fiercely. The thin line on Dorcas's arm split open, gaping like an unwholesome invitation from a Knockturn Alley whore._

_Dorcas Meadows said nothing and did nothing. However, a tear trickled down her freckled cheek._

_Malfoy's mouth was puckered and his eyebrows were perched together like doves before a snow. "This will never do. The skin is all stretched and bloodied now." He looked at the girl with a quizzical expression on his patrician features. "You're not very good at love, are you? It's a good thing I am, or we'd have done with you now. I am very magnanimous with my lovers." He licked the trail of tears off her cheek. "I love the way you can say so much with silence, darling. Your silence means so much to me because it makes me look forward to when I finally get to hear your mellifluous voice as you cry out to someone, anyone to 'Gods, help me! Please, help!'"_

_The ring of black-robed figures laughed, breaking the solemnity of their previous monk-like stillness._

"_And sweetheart, I'm going to love helping you." Malfoy rubbed a hand over the front of his trousers, where an erection was already becoming apparent. "Believe me. And then, after I'm done helping you – well, there are lots of other men here who care about you just as much as I do. And love is so scarce in this world, don't you think? I couldn't find it in my heart to deny them – my brethren, every single one. If you could choose a way to die, wouldn't you choose being fucked to death by people who love you?"_

"_I get it, Malfoy. You're laying it on a bit thick, after all. You always did lack subtlety." Dorcas grinned smugly around her bloodied, torn lip. "I'm not afraid of death."_

_Lucius looked surprised. "Of course not! Death will be a welcome release for you. No," he said, smiling. "No, what you should be afraid of is your life between this point right here, and that sweet moment when you slip away." He wiped his boning knife on the hem of her shirt. "Now, whatever happened to that lovely silence I enjoyed so much? Open up dear, so I can cut your tongue out."_

_He played with her for hours, and when Dorcas Meadows finally broke and called for the Gods to help her, Lucius laughed and teased her. "I'm sorry? What was that? You need to enunciate your words better. I _think_ I know what you said, but all I heard was 'Gaah, haaah meeeh.'" The humor dropped from his face immediately. "Cat. Got. Your. Tongue, Ms. Meadows?" _

_Sheathing his knife, he stepped away from her. His blond hair was sticky and matted to his head from her blood, and his eyes burned with insanity as he loosed his bulging erection from his pants and took his pleasure from her. _

_The black-robed figures queued up, each awaiting their turn, and the man who had been watching was relieved when he discovered that she was already dead by the time his turn came. _

"_Isss there a problem, child?"_

_The man who had been watching turned to face the voice, and saw that the throne was now occupied by the creature whose eyes he'd seen earlier. A scabrous, reptilian man with blood-filled irises that glowed in the flickering firelight sat before him. He looked… unholy. Unbalanced. Unwholesome._

"_My lord, she's dead," he heard himself say, petulantly. "It's no fun when they don't squirm."_

_The Dark Lord smiled, baring his horrible, sharp teeth. "Your distaste for taking your pleasure from a body enjoyed by so… many of your brothers is understandable. However, you turn down the bounties received from my right hand at your own risk." His smile grew, and he pointed his wand at the man before him. "Crucio."_

_He fell screaming._

Con fell to his knees, retching. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Hermione's arms were around him tightly, so tightly. He couldn't think. Con had to get away from her, but she wouldn't let go.

"What did you see? What did you see, Con?" Her voice was tight with grief, and her hands searched over his body, trying to pull him in closer.

Gods, he couldn't breathe. She needed to let him go. Her arms were softly turned limbs that were pulling him too far under; her winter-fair skin too much like Dorcas Meadows's. He gagged again and tried to disengage himself from her.

"Let me go," he whispered.

"I'll never let you go," she cried.

"Please, I'm going to be sick. Let me go. Oh Gods! Help me, please!" Con was sobbing like a child. "Hermione, _let me go_. For now, just let me go. Gods, I was a Death Eater. I have to get away from you for now. I was a Death Eater."

She still wouldn't release him, so great was her fear that he would do something rash to himself. Constantine pulled out his wand and whispered, "_Incarcerous_."

He left her there, lying on the floor, while he rushed out of the Potions lab. He ran through the dungeons and up a flight of stairs and out into the cold December evening.

* * *

Con sat huddled in the corner of Greenhouse Eleven, reliving the memory. The pleasure he'd seen on Malfoy's face as he tortured Dorcas Meadows caused his stomach to churn in discomfort. He'd tasted his counterpart's emotions while he watching the girl's blood drip down her face and arms and legs, and the predominant emotion his other self had felt had been pride. True, he'd felt nausea and horror and fear and a crippling paranoia, but Con could not understand why he would feel pleased that the girl had given the Death Eaters a good show.

He was not so far removed from his emotions that he was unable to tell that his other self had loathed being a follower of Voldemort. Con didn't think his _heart_ was bad, but there was no question that he was a terrible person who'd participated willingly in blood and fear-mongering. He was a man who was capable of standing and watching a sociopath torture an innocent woman. His face had remained impassive behind his Death Eater's mask as she screamed wordlessly, blood dripping from her tongueless mouth.

That kind of horror left scars on a man. He'd never be whole. His insides were just as ugly and marked as his outside.

Hermione deserved better than him, a soul-dead, ex-Death Eater. She deserved someone less broken – someone untainted by the war who could be a father to her children… A man who wouldn't look into their child's eyes and think of the cornflower blue gaze of a victim. He had to leave her.

That man… _that man_ had tortured her. Lucius Malfoy had Hermione in his clutches for three weeks. What kind of hell must she have gone through?

As much as Hermione deserved better, the pureblood deserved worse. Lucius Malfoy merited every torment that Constantine Prince could heap upon his head before he broke and killed the aristocrat. He'd never be as imaginative as the Dark Lord's right hand had been, but Con was far more interested in justice for his love – a tit for tat of scars. Of course, he didn't expect to derive any pleasure out of the torture, really.

He pictured the tree of scars crossing his lover's back, and smiled. Maybe he would enjoy it a little bit. Con knew Hermione's body so well that he would have no problem marking Lucius with the twins of her own scars.

Yes, Lucius Malfoy deserved death, and Constantine Prince would deliver it to him.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	19. Chapter 18

_A/N: Here's chapter eighteen. I hope you guys like it._

_I wanna leave a shout out to MollysSister from whom I stole the phrasing about spies reaching for the light, but being forced to wallow in darkness. It was too good! Thanks for the inspiration, ma'am!_

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

Constantine stared at the vial in his hand. It would be madness to drink it.

His thumb traced down the glass side, considering. But it might contain the answers for which he was searching, and there was no doubt that with Lucius Malfoy, forewarned was forearmed.

He hadn't seen Hermione since he had left her bound on the floor of the Potions lab the day before. Regret tinged his mind as he thought of her with her horrible hair and her sweet mouth. Of the paths laid before him, none of them led back to her. In fact, one led to Azkaban and one led to death. He wasn't sure which he'd prefer at this point, knowing what he knew about himself, and missing Hermione so much that it was as if there was nothing but packed wool where his heart used to be.

No. Con had to face Malfoy, and to go in half-cocked with a gaping hole in his brain was foolhardy.

Carefully, he removed the stopper from the enhanced Wit-Sharpening Potion. He'd run though some careful Arithmantic calculations last night, and there was a 76 chance that this potion would provide the push his brain needed to access the rest of his memories. There was also a 7 chance that they had misformulated the recipe in such a way to cause uncontrollable vomiting, headache, and in extreme cases, death.

Well, he knew that taking on Malfoy wasn't without risk, and this was the first battle in the war he'd declared. _Bottoms up_, he thought, and tossed back the potion.

Nothing happened.

Con sat on the floor in the greenhouse, worried that he'd lose his equilibrium and would fall. It was cold. And hard. He shifted, uncomfortable. The bones in his bum felt bruised from the flagstone tiles. His stomach gurgled, and he wondered if this was the initial onslaught of nausea that proved he was suffering from a misformulation in the recipe.

_No, just hunger_, he decided. Con hadn't eaten since lunch the day before.

Three minutes passed, and leaned back against the tree that had grown into the walls of Greenhouse Eleven. Maybe his body just had to metabolize it before…

_There it is._

The feeling was akin to Apparition, only instead of his body being forced through an invisible tube, it was his brain that was squeezed. And the tube wasn't invisible, it was full of light. Only it wasn't really light, it was shocking self and electric awareness. Con fell back on the floor, and let the memories wash over him in a riot of colors and noise and smells and touch. He was…

…_sitting on a shabby floor playing with his favorite stuffed bear. Mum had magicked it so that when he spoke to it, it would turn its head and wave its arms. He'd initially found it alarming, but she had just laughed and told him, "Magic is a part of you. Magic is…"_

"…_a fucking useless waste of time! Can't do anything proper with it, can you? Go ahead, boy. Twiddle that stick and make gobs of money appear. Make your mum twenty years younger with melon-sized tits. Get me a new job so I'm not sodding spilling my life's blood at the factory, you twit. When you can do that, I'll let you practice. Until then, no more _foolish _wand-waving in this house." A crash of a glass being thrown against the wall, and the sudden smell of liquor wafted to his nose. His father opened his mouth again and said…_

"…_You're a witch, aren't you?" he asked the pretty red-headed girl. "Lily, I am too! Look!" He showed her the wand his mother had scrimped to buy for him. Her eyes widened in…_

…_shock. "How could you?" Her beautiful bow mouth was puckered, and tears were forming in her eyes. "You, of all people! I thought you were my friend, but I must have been wrong." Her face hardened. "No friend would call me that name."_

"_Lily, I'm sorry! Please…" he trailed off, feeling helpless. He tugged at his robes where they were still disheveled from the Marauders' earlier prank._

"_No! You leave me alone, _Snivellus_." He stretched his hand out to her…_

…_and it was grasped by Headmaster Dumbledore. "My poor boy, whatever has happened to you?" His twinkling blue eyes were calculating as he looked at the state of his former student. "Come inside, son, and have a lemon drop. I'm sure we can find a solution to your current predicament." The man reached up to wipe the tears and snot from his face…_

…_and felt the burn on his wrist, summoning him to the Dark Lord. He put down the glass of Firewhiskey that he'd been using to try and medicate his anger and depression and sent a note via floo to inform Dumbledore that he was being called. He picked up his ebony wand and pressed it to the mark on his arm, Apparating…_

…_to a house engulfed in writhing flames. He heard a beloved voice scream from the interior. "James! NO!!" He sprinted up the steps and followed the sound of Lily's voice. He found a tableau out of his nightmares. James Potter lay sprawled like a doll on the floor at the feet of his wife. His eyes were vacant, and his glasses lay broken a half foot away. His dear, childhood friend stood over her lover's body, fiercely cradling a child to her chest._

"_Jusst give me the boy, and I will let you go, Mudblood. What iss this one half-blooded sssspawn to you? Your primitive type is fertile – you can have more babies sssuckling at your dugs in no time." Voldemort reached out hungrily, his eyes burning with hatred._

"_Never!" she hissed._

_A flash of green and Lily was falling, falling…_

…_falling asleep at his desk, grading papers. He was a sour, dried-out stick of a man – teaching Potions to dunderheads who had no interest other than foolish wand-waving and fornication. James Potter's doppelganger roamed the halls and haunted his Potions class. It was all he could do to keep from blasting Harry into perdition, but then… oh, then… he'd look into his eyes and see nothing but his Lily, the girl who had turned from him and never looked back. His fist clenched…_

…_as he was once more summoned to the side of Voldemort. The Dark Lord was back, and with a disgust that was so real it was nearly tangible, he slunk back to the side of his former Master, playing loyal Death Eater while he spied for Dumbledore. More death, more victims, more mayhem. It unspooled before him in a never-ending torment of innocent eyes, lovers clutching each other tightly in fear, and bawling children. Two and a half blood-drenched years passed until…_

…_until Voldemort collapsed with Potter's wand pointed at his back. He'd exposed himself as a spy – a sacrifice for the cause, in order to give the boy a fair chance at the Dark Lord. He'd fully expected to die. He's wanted it, really. He would have nothing left to live for after this was over. His debt to Lily had been repaid. _

_The hissing "Crucio" had covered him like fire wreathing his flesh, the pain so intense that he'd screamed until he'd voided his bowels and pissed himself. And then it stopped, leaving a wide-eyed Potter victorious and him lying on the ground in a pile of his own shit._

He blinked and opened his eyes. Cursing, Severus Snape stood up.

* * *

Hermione was incredibly worried about Constantine. Oh, she was furious, too. He'd left her on the floor with her shirt and bra gaping open, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. She'd expected the spell to wear off or at least weaken over time, allowing her to reach the wand holster strapped to the side of her thigh. But she'd never gotten the opportunity to test her theory because shortly after Con left, Slughorn had entered.

The pudgy, elderly teacher's mouth had gaped open and shut like a fish while he stared at the half-naked young witch with _perky_ assets for an entirely inappropriate length of time.

"Professor Slughorn, _if_ you please," she'd bitten off. Hermione put herself to rights as soon as he'd freed her from her bonds. Bitterly, she remembered that instead of magicking her bonds off, he'd taken the time to untie them with his sweaty hands.

It was twelve hours later now, and she hadn't caught even a glimpse of Con's shiny black head. Hermione didn't know where he'd slept because he hadn't curled around her last night like a parenthesis on the end of her thought, and Harry and Ron both said he hadn't slept in his bed in the boys' dorm. She sighed.

It was close now. She could feel it. The end was coming with all the implacability of death. It stalked her on silent paws, and Hermione was afraid. Con had unraveled in front of her, and her silence on his identity was no longer an option. Initially, although it had been selfish, keeping his secret quiet hadn't been malicious. The thought of losing him had caused her to act only in her own interests, and she knew now that it was destroying him to know only the worst part of himself.

He saw all the evil and none of the good. Con remembered killing an innocent child, but didn't remember all the times he'd passed information to the Order that saved lives. He didn't know that as a spy, although he'd longed for the light, his position had caused him to wallow in the darkness.

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes. She'd done him a grave disservice by allowing him to sleep with her. When he regained his memories, he'd have to add sleeping with a student to the list of wrongs that he considered himself to have committed. Hermione knew him well, and he was not the type of wizard who would grant himself absolution for such a paltry thing as missing his memory. Sobbing now, she hung her head, and began to plan how to make it right – even if making it right precluded them being together in the end.

She took out a scrap of parchment and a quill. Dipping it into the inkwell on her desk, she carefully wrote:

How to Help Constantine Prince/Severus Snape:

_1. Tell him the truth._

_2. Apologize profusely._

_3. …_

She chewed on the edge of her quill, getting a tiny splotch of ink in the corner of her mouth. There was something she was missing, something obvious. Twining one curl around her finger, she admitted to herself that she was ashamed she had let her brain go to sleep while sunk arse-deep into her relationship with Con.

What was the common thread? What was the motivation? Her gaze sharpened suddenly. Yes, what _was_ the motivation?

Why had Dumbledore decided to hide Severus Snape amongst the seventh-years?

Why had Dumbledore lied (well, obfuscated) when asked if Con was related to Professor Snape?

_Why,_ when confronted with their relationship during the conference with Slughorn, hadn't Dumbledore called an end to it? He had _known_ it was an inappropriate relationship and had turned a blind eye to a professor screwing a student!

Something was happening that was far bigger than either Hermione or Severus, and she was determined to find out what.

_3. Confront Headmaster._

As she was pondering further points to add to her list, she heard a soft knock on the door to her common room. She groaned and pushed back her chair, tucking her quill into her hair.

Professor McGonagall stood at her door. The woman's face was severe, and made more so by the severe bun knotted at the nape of her neck. Her green eyes flicked quickly around the room as if to ensure that she was truly alone before she thrust a parchment at the girl. It was sealed with the wax emblem of St. Mungos.

"Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to give this to you, Hermione. He just received it, and the communiqué that came with it said it was quite urgent."

The girl opened the envelope, and despite every dark thought currently weighing upon her, she laughed. Smiling at her professor, she said, "St. Mungos has accepted our request for them to do clinical tests on our modified Wit-Sharpening Potion. They think it has great potential." She scanned the contents again. "Oh, but they need samples before five o'clock today." Biting her lip, she glanced at the clock. "That's in forty-five minutes. Thank you so much for delivering this to me, Professor, but I must run if I want to make it in time!"

Professor McGonagall's eyes softened marginally. "Congratulations, my dear."

"Thank you, Professor."

* * *

Severus looked down at his skinny, twenty-something year old body and grimaced. "Lord, I was _never_ attractive, was I?" He ran a palm over his face, feeling infinitely older than his thirty-eight years. He felt more centered now that his memories were back, understanding that everything he had done was for a purpose.

He was still a scarred husk of a man – no good for anyone, but at least he had the consolation of knowing that he wasn't irreparably evil. He'd seen the error of his ways and turned back to the light, but not before…

…Well, not before committing more than one Unforgiveable.

_Oh gods, Hermione_, he thought suddenly. _She has no idea she's been fucking her Potions professor._ Severus thought for a moment, extrapolating how she would react if he approached her and revealed himself to be her lover. He envisioned her lovely face paling as the gorge rose in her throat – the horror she'd try to mask behind those clever amber eyes as she remembered every sick and perverted thing he had done to her body. Would she pity him, the lovesick fool that he was?

Because, gods damn him, he still loved and wanted her. More than anything. His memories of that girl and her kind, undemanding love were the only good memories he had in a lifetime of darkness. The light that shone off his affection for the curly-haired Gryffindor cast an illuminating light on his obsession with Lily. Was he willing to debase himself to Hermione in the hopes that she might one day return his affections? Would he grovel?

Absolutely.

However.

_However_.

Was it right to allow Hermione to shackle herself to a bitter, much older wizard? Severus's mouth twisted in pain when he thought of his lovely girl wasting any of her potential. Surely she would be better off without him.

He thought about her in the arms of Potter or Weasel and felt ill.

No, nothing had really changed substantially for him despite his three month residence in the Gryffindor (_Gryffindor!!_) boys' dormitory. He was still alone, teaching idiots who were just as likely to put out an eye with a stirring rod than actually use it in a potion. Dumbledore was still a manipulative bastard.

_Dumbledore_, his lip curled. What had he hoped to gain from such an idiotic move? Giving him a name like Constantine Prince was as good as hanging an enormous flashing sign above his head that only Malfoy could see. The headmaster hadn't changed his appearance except to make him younger. He hadn't sent him to the Americas.

The bastard had set him up as a lure for Lucius.

Severus snorted. Dumbledore must be getting senile. He clearly hadn't anticipated Snape getting his memories back before he hared off and killed Malfoy.

Now that he finally realized that he hadn't been a Death Eater by choice in many years, the Potions master had no intention of further fracturing his soul with murder. The gods knew that it was already cobbled together with dust and old feathers and spit, and one more heavy blow would cause it to fall into its component parts.

No, Lucius was a sociopath. It wouldn't be long before he broke and committed another sin that he would be unable to keep hidden, exposing the ugly canker of his soul to the Wizarding World. And he knew for a fact that the famous Malfoy fortune was already stretched nearly to the breaking point, having been funneled directly to Voldemort during the second Vold-War.

Severus smirked, and then his face fell. To the best of his knowledge, Hermione Granger was the only victim who'd ever been able to walk away from Lucius Malfoy. After himself, she was probably the person the pureblood most wanted to kill.

* * *

Hermione delivered the container of the modified Wit-Sharpening Potion to St. Mungos' Research and Development facility. She'd had to apologize profusely when she realized she only had twenty-nine vials when the specifications they'd sent had stipulated thirty, but in the end they had been civil enough.

She walked down Diagon Alley and debated stopping in Flourish & Blotts. She knew that the newest volume of _Ars Alchemica_ had just come out and that Con, no _Severus_, would be interested. Although she doubted he would be interested in sharing a friendly discussion on the journal once he realized the extent of her perfidy. Biting her lip, she sniffled slightly and remembered the way he liked to bury his face in her neck and breathe deeply as they were preparing to go to sleep for the night.

Hermione was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't put up a fight when Lucius Malfoy wrapped his arms around her from behind and Apparated away.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!!_


	20. Chapter 19

_A/N: Every day brings us closer to the climax!! _

_I hope you guys like the chapter. :) WARNING: RELATIVELY GRAPHIC TORTURE - although not as bad as what happened to Dorcas Meadows. A bit of squick to this one, though._

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

Severus ran up to the boys' dormitory to shower and change his clothes before he planned on barging into Dumbledore's office to demand he remove that ridiculous cuff and corresponding glamour. He put on black trousers and a white button down shirt, and threw black robes on over top, desperately trying to imitate his Potions master robes. Now that he remembered who he was, he felt naked without them… as if he was lacking armor and showing his soft underbelly.

He dried his hair with a quick charm and was turning to leave when a large eagle owl swept into the Gryffindor tower and dropped a bundle on the bed. Severus froze, recognizing Atreus, the Malfoy owl. The bird gave him a haughty look before departing without waiting for an answer.

Drawing his wand, he cast several diagnostic spells designed to reveal dark magic. When he found no hint of malevolent intent, he cautiously picked up the cloth-wrapped bundle and opened it.

A long, honey-brown curl fell into his hand, and Severus felt his world tilt dangerously. _Hermione_. Without conscious intent, his fingers stroked the soft strand, and he lifted it to his face. Apple-blossom shampoo washed through his senses, and fear crept into his heart like a slow-burning poison. Numbly, he picked up the note that had been attached.

_Malfoy Manor. 10 pm. I trust you remember the way. _

_No aurors or she'll suffer for it._

In that moment, he grew into an old man, hunched and fearful. He wrapped his arms around his torso and keened in pain and loss. This was impossible. It was quite simply impossible for Severus to keep going in a world where Hermione did not exist. Straightening suddenly, his posture grew strong, fury radiating off of him.

"Fuck! FUCK!!" He screamed viciously. Severus grabbed his trunk and slammed it against the wall in his fury. "Mother fucking, smegma-eating buggerer of hippogriffs!" He ripped the down comforter off his bed and destroyed it wordlessly with a flash from his ebony wand.

"What's crawled up your arse, mate?" Ron's voice was appalled as he surveyed the destruction around the other boy.

"Godsdamn it," Severus said, kicking his bed post. He threw the letter and curl at the red head.

Ron's face drained of color, and his hands began to shake. "Harry!" He shouted. "Harry, get up here right now!"

"I've got to go get her. I can't leave her with that monster." Severus was pacing furiously, a ball of manic energy with no outlet.

"Oh, gods. He's got her again. When we got to them last time, Ginny's body was…" Ron gagged.

"Pull yourself together, Weasel. This isn't helping. Have your mental meltdown when Hermione's life isn't at stake." He turned and shouted down the steps. "HARRY! Get your arse up here!" He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. _Asking Potter for help. I've hit bottom and started digging._

The tousle-headed boy entered the bedroom. "What on earth is wrong, Ron?"

The two boys shoved the letter and curl at Potter. His eyes darted across the paper, and Severus saw the genial, slightly foolish wizard fade, only to be replaced with the steely-eyed Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. "BASTARD. That blasted, sodding…"

"Don't stress your brain thinking up insults, Potter. Save your wit to help me figure out how to get Hermione back safe," Severus said, struggling to control his frayed temper. "She's currently being held by a lunatic in one of the most securely held manors in the U.K."

Ron paced frenetically, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "We should get Dumbledore. He'll be able to help us. Even Voldemort feared him. Oh, gods. What do you think Malfoy's doing to 'Mione right now?"

"It doesn't help to conjecture, Ron." Severus's tone left no doubt that he had been thinking the very same thing, and the conclusions that he'd drawn left him feeling cold. "We can't go to Dumbledore. He's untrustworthy. If he hadn't sat on that information from Draco, Ginny would still be alive and Hermione wouldn't have scars all over her body. There's more than that, of course." His mouth twisted sardonically as he thought of the old man's manipulations. "The things he's done to me… are unspeakable."

"Have you got your memory back?" Harry enquired.

Severus nodded. "I'll tell you about it one day, Potter. For now, we have to figure out the first step."

Harry looked surprised. "I should have thought our first step would be obvious. We've got to talk to Draco. Who better to help us get onto the Malfoy grounds?"

Ron nodded. "Let me talk to him. He hates your guts, Harry."

* * *

"Wake up, my darling, my sweetling, my long-lost love."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and she saw her worst dreams made flesh. Lucius Malfoy, the subject of every single one of her night terrors, was leaning over her, stroking her hair. She opened her mouth to scream, and the pureblood tut-tutted.

"_Silencio_," he murmured with a voice as slick as silk. "You know how I like to make love when it's quiet." Malfoy kissed her on the forehead. Hermione began to struggle in earnest, but was unable to move from a spread-eagled position. She blanched when she realized he had her splayed out naked on the rack _Oh, gods. The rack_.

She remembered the rack.

Her eyes bulged as he tilted the mechanism so that she was nearly upright, and Hermione began to pant with fear.

"Shhhh, my darling look out the window. It's the Malfoy rose garden by moonlight." His eyes were tender and mad and so very hungry that she shuddered in horror. The pureblood smiled widely. "That's right! It's beautiful, isn't it? You see, I wanted this night to be special for us. It's our reunion! I neglected you shamefully for that little red-headed tart, and I want to make it up to you. Look around you. If I didn't care, I'd have kept you in the dungeons, but here we stand in the library! I know how much you love books, you little cunt."

He frowned, his thin lips curling petulantly. "I was a fool, Hermione, and I want you to forgive me. I focused almost all of my love on her – that slut friend of yours, but she played me false and left me far too quickly."

Lucius cocked his head to take in her expression.

"Ahh, you're shy, of course. I knew this would be good between us." He leaned forward and sucked her ear between his lips. His mouth was all dripping tongue and sharp teeth, and Hermione would have screamed if she'd been able to make a sound. With a snick, his teeth met through her earlobe, and tears leaked from the corner of her eyes in pain.

"Mmm… You are so delicious. I've been thinking of what we should do together first. I got to leave you all sorts of love marks last time, but I never got to enjoy the pleasures of your body like I did with the redhead. I've decided that's where I want to start." His grey eyes grew incredibly cold. "After all, I'm sure you spread your legs for Snape, didn't you?" The sharpness faded again from his face, once more replaced with lust and psychosis. Although of course Hermione hadn't questioned it before, it once more became readily apparent to her that Lucius Malfoy was looney as a March Hare.

He dropped his trousers, displaying fine black silk boxers beneath them. Lucius pulled his flaccid penis out of the opening. It hung between his legs, useless and shriveled.

"I bet you've never seen such a pureblooded cock." He gently cupped his hand under his balls and massaged slightly. His other hand coasted down the side of the rack. "See these hinges? I can bend you forward if I like. And I think I want to. I'll take you from behind so I don't have to look you in the face." His eyes widened and he shouted at her, spittle flying from his lips. "That way I don't have to think about you fucking that bastard traitor. I'll look into your eyes, but all I will see is his black gaze, staring at me. Condemning me while he fucks you any way that he wants to do it."

He shivered and paced for a moment. "But he doesn't love you like I love you. And I'm going to show you."

Malfoy rubbed a thumb over the head of his organ, and fisted himself while he stared at the curly-haired woman strapped to the rack in his library. His cock refused to respond, hanging as limply as boiled cabbage. A dark look crossed his patrician features, and he stepped closer to Hermione, actually joining her on the edge of the rack.

She was terrified. His face was an inch from hers, and he was panting open-mouthed as he stroked his penis trying to elicit a reaction from it. Lucius's eyes were fastened to hers, and his tongue darted out occasionally to lick her tears. His movements became more frantic.

Hermione knew something was terribly wrong. She couldn't see what his hands were doing, but she saw the storm clouds building on his face and knew that he was on the verge of killing her. She heard the sounds of his fist sliding over flesh as he wanked furiously.

"You fucking bitch! You cock tease!" He stepped back, and Hermione had just enough time to see his dick hanging like a dead flobberworm before he pulled back and punched her in the jaw. He hit her so hard that the girl lost herself for a time in a moment of darkness and confusion. In that brief instant, Hermione was once more a child at the beach thrown under the swell of a breaker and getting tossed through the wave, never knowing which way was up until her head finally crested the water and she breathed deeply.

When her eyes opened again, and the world had ceased to jump around her, she saw that Lucius Malfoy had pulled a wickedly sharp-looking boning knife. He dragged the point of it fiercely, deeply between her breasts and then watched as the blood welled and dripped down her belly, running in playful rivulets around her navel and into the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

"Oh," he said finally, his voice sounding tinny and far away. "That's so much better, love. You just needed a little coaxing." He dragged a hand through her blood and sniffed it. "I can smell your desire." His cock twitched and hardened. His fingers closed around his shaft, and he stroked himself once more, the blood making his hands slick.

* * *

Draco Apparated into his family estate. He sauntered in, hands tucked nonchalantly into his robes.

"What are you doing here?" Walden McNair sat in a dining room chair in the foyer, facing the doorway. His wand dangled from the fingertips of his right hand while he held a half-eaten apple in his left. "Aren't you supposed to be at school, Draco?"

The blond boy grimaced slightly as small chunks of saliva and apple flesh flew out of the Death Eater's mouth. McNair was an unimpressive man – the wrong side of forty, balding, paunchy, completely immoral and dissolute… and one of the fastest wand draws he'd ever met.

"Suspended for a week. That dried-out cunt McGonagall caught me reading the Dark Arts texts in the Restricted Section." His voice was drawling and distracted. "My father here?"

"He's busy and doesn't want to be disturbed."

Draco shrugged. "I'll wait to tell him I'm home, then." He cocked his head and considering, he said, "Tea in the library sounds good."

"Not the library." McNair's voice was curt.

"Why not? I should be - "

"I said, 'Not the library,' brat." The paunchy Death-Eater's face was menacing.

Draco shrugged and walked away. He resisted the urge to shrug his shoulders, knowing that what he really wanted to do was shake McNair's suspicious gaze from his back.

The Malfoy library had a Southerly exposure and faced the gardens. It was an enormous room that had two separate entrances, one through the Solarium and another through the Green Parlor. He walked towards the latter, intent on scoping the house out and communicating it to Potter and Weasley.

In his pocket, his hands were wrapped firmly around a galleon. He concentrated and felt the metal heat up.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	21. Chapter 20

_A/N: Okay, guys. Here's chapter 20. Sorry if I am not able to get these chapters up every single day. I'm trying, but as we get closer and closer to the end, the chapters are, by necessity, growing longer. When I first started the story, they were averaging about 1900 words. We're up to about 3000 now._

_No warnings in this chapter, but there's a lot of action. I hope you guys like it!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Harry, Ron, and Severus sat around the Gryffindor common room table enveloped in a taut silence. A golden galleon sat in front of them. It was a set of two coins, a remnant from the days of Dumbledore's Army. Its mate was in the possession of Draco.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Ron whispered. "I mean, that's his dad."

Severus stared at the boy. It wasn't an unfriendly look, but it was assessing. "You lived through the war, Weasel. You saw the depths to which human beings can sink." He shifted his weight and glanced impatiently back at the galleon. "Why are you asking questions to which you already know the answer?"

Ron flushed painfully, but nodded.

The coin flashed for a moment, and the three stood up to read it.

_Herm w/L in Lib._

Severus pulled out a hand-drawn blueprint of Malfoy Manor that Draco had provided and spread it out on the common room table. He tapped the map with one long index finger. "It's here. Southerly exposure with at least three windows. Lucius is a paranoid sod and while he has Hermione in the house, he'll be keeping his eyes peeled out those windows for anything suspicious."

"Hang on. Getting something else from Draco."

_McN in Foy. Wand drawn._

"Foy? What the hell room is that?" Ron said, disgusted. "Poncy prat."

Severus and Harry stared at the red head. "He means foyer, imbecile," Severus sniped.

"What the hell is a foyer, Con?"

"You are a waste of brain tissue, Neanderthal."

_A Dol. & Rab LeSt in Solar._

"Bloody hell. Four Death Eaters, and only three of us." Ron chewed on his lip. "I don't know if Draco will side against his father. He'd put his mother at risk if he did. He told me that Lucius keeps him in line by punishing Narcissa for his son's mistakes. If we fail…" Weasley didn't finish his thought, but the three boys knew it would go very badly indeed for Mrs. Malfoy if Draco was implicated.

_Yax & Trav in Gr Par._

"Six," Harry sighed. "They're more than twice our number." He absently rubbed the faded scar on his forehead. "Well, we've faced uneven numbers before, and made it through okay."

Severus snorted bitterly. _Potter_ had made out only because Snape had thrown himself in front of the oncoming herd of stampeding thestrals that had been Voldemort's murderous temper. _Lord_, he hoped they were able to come up with a better plan than _that_ one.

"All right," the Potions master said, gaining their attention once more. "Whatever we do, it has to be soundless. If Malfoy realizes he's under attack, he'll kill Hermione out of spite. The good news is that Lucius knows me and most likely will not expect me to have back up."

"Why's that?" Potter asked quietly.

"…I've always been a loner. Also, to the best of his knowledge, I've never actually trusted anyone to watch my back like I'll have to with this operation." Severus kept his eyes downcast, studying the map in front of him for potential ambush points. He refused to let his hands shake.

Ron and Harry were silent for a moment before the boy with the scar said, "When this is all over, we'll want to hear your story, Con."

"We'll see, Potter."

"Got another one," Ron said quickly.

_Entr via Elf Qtrs in kitch._

Almost instantly, the coin flashed again and the three boys watched as the letters resettled themselves.

_Ward PW SERPENSORTIA._

"Well, that's it then. Potter, don't forget your Invisibility Cloak."

* * *

Draco paced restlessly in the massive kitchens, wondering where the bloody hell the cavalry was.

His nerves were on fire knowing that his father was doing gods-knew-what to Hermione, and there were five Death Eaters here at Malfoy Manor where they didn't belong. He bit the inside of his cheek, and pulled back the sleeve on his left arm.

It was still there. He'd hoped it would fade with the demise of the Dark L… with Voldemort's death. The Dark Mark twisted around his arm like a river polluted with blood, the taint an eternal reminder of what he'd allowed himself to become… of the monster into which Draco had allowed his father to turn him. He sneered.

It had all been bloody useless, hadn't it? Potter and his cohorts had defeated the Dark Lord, but he was one figure – evil personified. They couldn't battle against the darkness that existed, hidden and cherished, inside of everyday men. The secret sins that were committed every day far outweighed the positives. They'd need a million Potters to counteract the Lucius Malfoys and Walden McNairs of this world. Draco gagged. _A million Potters_. He heard a small scuffing noise and looked up.

Constantine Prince entered the kitchen, his face drawn with worry and the map of Malfoy Manor clutched in his hand. "Draco! Any problems?"

The blond smiled and raised his wand, pointing it directly at Con's heart. "Just one, Prince."

Draco watched with morbid interest as the blood drained from the black-haired boy's face.

Severus froze, staring down Draco's wand.

"What's this then, Malfoy?" he said cautiously.

"You didn't actually think I'd help you? Turn against my own father?" His voice was wrapped in arctic chill, and the hand holding his wand was perfectly steady.

Severus watched Draco carefully. That had been exactly what he'd thought, of course. Had his spy's instincts steered him so wrong? Had three months of being in love with his bushy-haired Gryffindor softened him to the point that he could no longer tell friend from foe?

Draco slowly winked at him.

_Ah, of course not_.

"Lay down your wand, Prince and maybe I won't geld you." He pointed the length of hawthorn wood at Severus's crotch.

The Potions master scowled fiercely. _The prat had better be careful. I might need that_. He slowly lowered the ebony wand until it rested on the granite counter top of a nearby kitchen island. Severus felt naked and defenseless and hoped that Draco knew what he was doing.

The blond pointed the length of Hawthorn wood ever so slightly to Severus's left and said, "Petrificus Totalus!" Taking the cue, he stiffened as if the spell had hit him. Immediately, the door to the kitchens swung open, and Yaxley stepped inside.

"You've done a good thing, lad. Your father will be proud of you. He's been worried that you've gone soft now that our Lord has passed." His blunt features rearranged themselves into what was surely meant to be a proud smile, but his teeth were yellowed and broken, and Severus saw Draco restrain a shudder.

Yaxley's pale blue eyes darted to the boy whom he assumed to be Petrified. "So that's him, huh? Severus Snape? He does rather look like the blighter, although a good deal younger. What on earth was Dumbledore thinking?"

The Potions master saw Draco's eyes widen as the pieces fell into place for him. The blond cocked his head and examined him. It _did_ make sense. His eyes clearly said, _We'll be having a discussion about this later, you and I_. Severus only hoped that Harry and the Weasel hadn't overheard the revelation. They were under James Potter's invisibility cloak, and he was unsure if they'd even entered the house yet.

Yaxley's eyes slid over Severus's shoulder and his brows pulled together. "What on earth is that? Is that a shoe?" As he walked away from the two boys, the Potions master grabbed his ebony wand and wordlessly Petrified the Death Eater.

Moving silently, Severus went to identify what had so alarmed Yaxley. He laughed softly. "You prat," he said, turning to Draco. "When you pretended to hex me, you hit Potter and Weasley under the cloak."

"Why didn't you tell me? You're my godfather. I would have kept your secret." The blond's voice was small and uncertain.

Severus reached over and squeezed his godson's shoulder. "I know that, Draco. Believe me, I do. I didn't know myself until last night. We can talk about this later, okay? Not a word about it to Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber, though," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to where the two boys stood frozen.

"But, Uncle - "

"We do not have time," he said firmly. "Hermione is still in danger."

The blond nodded and flourished his wand. "Finite Incantatum."

Harry threw back their hood revealing his and Ron's faces. "Of all the dumb luck, Malfoy! I can't believe you hit us!" He looked at Yaxley. "Let's take care of this berk."

Severus pulled a flask from his pocket and uncapped it. Reaching forward, he plucked a strand of the Death Eater's dirty blond hair and dropped it in carefully. It flashed for a moment.

Harry and Ron picked Yaxley up and carried him towards a broom closet in a corner of the kitchen. They shoved him none-to-gently inside. Before shutting the door, the red head took his wand and calmly snapped it in two. Severus gave him an approving look.

"Who wants to take the Polyjuice, and who is going to stay under the cloak?" The Potions master brandished the flask to which he'd just added the hair. "The one under the cloak will go take out McNair in the foyer. The Polyjuiced Yaxley will take out Travers in the Green Parlor. We'll then meet back up here."

"I'll be Yaxley," Harry volunteered.

"I guess that leaves me to be under the cloak," Ron said, shrugging.

The-Boy-Who-Whined took a sip from the flask and groaned as his bones shifted, realigning themselves into Yaxley's rangy frame. They cracked, sounding brittle, and Potter's hair bled into dirty blond. Finally, he straightened and nodded, showing he was ready.

The two boys turned to leave the kitchen.

"Please hurry," Severus whispered.

* * *

Harry stepped into the Green Parlor, and saw the grey-haired Travers reclining on a puffy-looking couch, his booted feet up on the arm. He idly perused a _Playwizard_ that Harry knew to be from last year. Not that he looked at such things.

"Hey Yax, look at this one. Wouldn't you love a piece of that luscious witch?" He flipped the magazine around, and Harry saw a brunette straddling a _Firebolt_. She slowly worked a hand up and down the shaft of the broom and winked at him, her tongue coming out to just touch her plump bottom lip. _Miss November_, he thought. Not that he looked at such things.

Harry spun his wand in his fingers, trying to appear casual. "Nah. Too skinny. I like a witch with a bit of substance. Makes for a more comfortable ride." He grinned when Miss November stopped stroking and looked irritated.

Travers turned to him, an odd expression on his face. "What? That's not what you said yester-"

"Petrificus Totalus," Harry said, his voice silky. The grey-haired Death Eater froze, an incredulous expression on his face.

Potter snapped his wand without a second thought, and turned to head back to the kitchens.

* * *

Ron was already there when he arrived.

"Blimey, Con. McNair's got a freaky set of reflexes. The minute I stepped into the foy… the fu… the entrance hall, his head snapped up and he had his wand at the ready."

"Yes, McNair has rather a preternatural sense of danger."

The red head stared at him blankly.

"McNair knows when enemies are around," he clarified.

"Sure. I knew what you meant."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"Harry! All taken care of?" the Potions master asked.

"Piece of cake. Sod was engrossed in his _Playwizard_. It was a work of two or three minutes. What's next?"

"You both go and take care of Rabastan LeStrange and Antonin Dolohov." Severus unrolled the map on the island. "They're here," he said, pointing to the Solarium. "This is the only entrance. Enter and then immediately separate so that what happened here in the kitchen," he said, referring to their accidental Petrification, "doesn't happen there."

"Anything we should know about these two?" Harry asked, focused on the task at hand.

Severus nodded in approval. "Dolohov is as stupid as a post, but incredibly strong. Rabastan LeStrange is incredibly cunning and intelligent. He's the one you want to take out first or he'll pick you out as an imposter almost immediately. It will take Dolohov a moment to process what's happening. Ron," he turned to the red head. "Ron, the moment Harry takes out LeStrange, you go for Dolohov. This whole thing has to go down in a matter of seconds or one of you risks getting hurt. We'll wait for you in the foyer… pardon me, the entrance hall."

* * *

They followed the advice they had been given, and as soon as they entered the Solarium they separated.

"What are you doing here, Yaxley?" Rabastan asked. He was a small, rabbity man with mean, predator eyes; the combination was unsettling. Although he lacked the presence of his older brother, he had survived the final battle while Rodolphus had not. "You're supposed to be guarding the other entrance into the library. Lucius will be upset if he finds you've abandoned your post."

"Travers is there," Harry said, waving his wand hand negligently. "Just came to see if you fellows wanted a bite from the kitchens. I'm hungry myself."

Rabastan's eyes narrowed on the wand Harry was waving about. "That's not your wand, Yax-"

Harry Petrified him.

He'd underestimated his strength while casting the spell, and while Rabastan froze immediately, it created a magical backsplash that blew the invisibility cloak's hood off of Ron's head.

Dolohov whirled to face him and almost effortlessly countered Ron's spell. He smiled at the two boys, and crooked his fingers at them.

"Come on then, boys. Let's see what you've got."

Harry immediately cast a Silencing spell on the room to prevent Lucius from overhearing their fight. They didn't want to lose their element of surprise. It was protecting Hermione and greatly increased their chances of getting her back in one piece.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Ron shouted.

Dolohov countered it wordlessly and then hissed, "Sectum Sempra!"

Ron collapsed, and the Death Eater watched in glee as the blood began to trickle from the red head's mouth. Dolohov walked towards the boy in the invisibility cloak, and suddenly collapsed on his face, still poised to take a step. The Boy-Who-Lived wearing Yaxley's face stood behind him, his wand out.

Harry rushed to Ron, and cried out when he pushed the cloak aside and saw the enormous cross quartering his chest. The blood foamed out of his mouth and Harry bit his lip around a sob.

"Episkey," he murmured and watched as the wound closed slightly before reopening.

"Episkey!" he shouted, with furious tears streaming down his face. The wound closed more quickly this time, and Harry held his breath, praying that his friend wasn't dying in front of him. He cursed when it reopened just as quickly. The wound wouldn't stay healed until he figured out how to stop the curse.

It was beyond his ability to heal, but the Boy-Who-Lived knew that it wasn't so bad yet that St. Mungos or Madame Pomfrey wouldn't be able to save his life.

Hermione didn't have much time left, and once Lucius discovered that they'd effectively removed his Death Eater honor guard, she was as good as dead.

Ron, however, only had moments to live if he didn't get him to a hospital.

Harry felt nauseated as he was forced to choose between the lives of his two best friends.

* * *

_A/N: Ducks flying projectiles from readers. Sorry for the cliffie guys! New chapter is coming along swimmingly, though. I MAY have it up tonight. It's a decent possibility._

_Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	22. Chapter 21

_A/N: It strikes me that I've forgotten the disclaimer for the last couple of chapters. Sorry! I've gotten caught up in the story, and I'm afraid it quite slipped my mind. SHAME on me!!_

_So, let it be known that despite a doppelganger-esque similarity in our appearance, I am in no way JK Rowling. The world of Harry Potter is her playground. She just lets me swing on her swingset if I promise to be nice._

_I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Shit," Severus said as he saw Harry returning with a Levicorpused Ron.

"We've got to get him to St. Mungos!" the Boy-Who-Lived cried, lowering his friend carefully to the floor. The Potions master knelt next to him, and hissed when he saw the red head's chest.

"Dolohov, right? Always was handy with this curse." He looked at Harry compassionately. "We can't leave Hermione. She'll die."

"I know!" he cried. "But Ron will die, too! I thought one of us could take Ron to St. Mungos and the other two could save Hermione." His hands were stretched wide in supplication, and the fading light from the windows caught on the scars on his hand. _I must not tell lies._

Severus ran his hand over his face. "This operation needs at least three of us: Draco, myself, and whoever was Polyjuiced to look like the Death Eater. If any of us leave, our chances of rescuing Hermione drop significantly." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but was forestalled by the Potions master's raised hand. "However, I am familiar with this curse, and I may be able to put him in a stasis that will hold for… twenty to thirty minutes. Before you make up your mind whether or not you are going to leave us to take him to St. Mungos, let me at least try, Potter. _Please_," he whispered, his voice begging Harry not to make a premature decision.

At his hesitant nod, Severus relaxed slightly and reached out to feel the red head's pulse. It was thready and extremely weak. The boy would surely expire in moments if nothing was done to keep him from bleeding out.

He touched his wand gently to the four corners of the cut and unbound the magic inherent in the Sectum Sempra curse that caused the cuts to spread. It was extremely advanced wordless magic with no wand movements other than pressing the tip to the wound. It was a spell done entirely with will and concentration and was extremely draining to the caster. Severus delved in with his mind, sensing the luminescent blue strands of malevolent magic working to split the bone and tissue ever more deeply. Tugging gently, he unraveled the skeins bit by bit, being careful not to tear them and risk leaving little bits of burrowing spell to drill holes through his body. When he believed he had removed them all, he snuffed them out of existence.

When the cuts stopped spreading and deepening, he sighed in relief. It had worked.

Severus wobbled.

"Draco," he said, his words slurring ever so slightly. "Cast a level five Healer's stasis charm on the Weasel. That's the one I taught you to use on your mum for when Lucius goes out of control."

The blond nodded and cast the charm. The blood stopped seeping and slowly, Ron's chest ceased to rise and fall as the stasis took over and held his body in suspended animation.

"There. We've given him as much time as we can." Severus turned to look at Harry. "Potter, will you stay and help us?"

The Boy-Who-Lived raised his wand and cast a Disillusionment charm on his friend. "Yes. Let's save Hermione."

* * *

Lucius sat on a chair, staring at the girl held upright on the rack. Her head was flopped over onto her shoulder and her sweet little mouth was open slightly. His beauty had passed out from blood loss, and he was waiting for her to wake up. Some part of him admitted that he was a sexual deviant, but even he derived no pleasure from fucking an unconscious woman. No, he liked them squirming and bloody. There was nothing like spending himself in a woman whose eyes were darkening from her impending death. He shuddered in pleasure.

Someone knocked on the door, and Lucius looked down at himself. He was hardly dressed for receiving company. He pulled on his pants, but decided not to remove the blood. He'd worked awfully hard to smear it all over himself, and he didn't think the mudblood had enough left in her to survive another round of bloodletting. Besides, it wasn't anything the remaining Death Eaters hadn't seen before.

He frowned when he saw Yaxley at the door. "What?" he said curtly.

"Young Draco has a present for you." Yaxley's voice was smug, and Lucius saw the man's eyes dance across his bloody chest.

"I don't have time for this foolishness. What do you want?"

"Your son came home for some quality bonding time with his dear old dad, and who should he happen to catch sneaking in via the Elf's Quarters?"

Malfoy's eyes snapped into focus suddenly and he smiled, a feral gleam of perfect white teeth.

"Knew you'd like that. He's got Prince at wand point in the foyer if you want to come out and… take him of our hands." He waggled an eyebrow at the other pureblood.

Lucius shifted his weight and his hand slid into his trouser pockets. "I'm sorry. Whom did he catch?"

Yaxley waved his arms, and Malfoy saw a gleam of dark wood up his sleeve. "Constantine Prince. I imagine he's come for the little tart you've got racked up in there." He leaned around Lucius to peer into the library, but Malfoy narrowed his eyes and held up his hand to stop him.

"Of course. How could I not be pleased with my son, bringing such a prize to me. Go ahead! I'll follow you."

The dirty blond Death Eater nodded and turned to head back to the foyer. Soundlessly, Malfoy pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the man whom he knew to be an impostor.

"Oh Yaxley," he murmured.

"Yeah, Malfoy?"

"Whenever did you find time to switch wands between now and two hours ago?" He cast a powerful Stupefy at the charlatan's back and watched as he fell bonelessly. Lucius kicked him viciously in the ribs. "And no Death Eater would call Severus Snape by his ridiculous _nom de guerre_, idiot." He kicked him once more for good measure, and was pleased when he felt something crack beneath his foot.

Lucius smoothed his features out and walked through the Green Parlor, noting that Travers was missing. He, the very pinnacle of pureblooded perfection, knew without a doubt that he was walking into a trap. However, they had lost the element of surprise, and by tipping their hand too obviously, surprise had now joined his ranks. He was disappointed that his son was involved, of course, but Lucius was still a young wizard by most counts. He could sire another child on that bloodless cunt of a wife.

It was, however, a waste of the fine training he and the Dark Lord both had lavished on Draco. The boy had a lamentably soft heart. As a Death Eater, he had constantly tried to shirk his duties. Lucius had been forced to take quite a firm hand with Narcissa in order to keep the boy in line. But he didn't consider himself a cruel taskmaster by any means. Yes, there were unpleasant duties associated with being a Death Eater – the meeting schedule alone had been quite exhausting. But Draco had even tried to eschew the _pleasures_ inherent in it, too. He'd brought the snot-nosed brat down into his dungeons to enjoy a piece of Potter's little red-headed slut, and the boy had turned white as a sheet and refused to participate.

Yes, Draco was a complete disappointment. Maybe it was just as well he'd turned traitor and had to be put down. Another child would be an improvement. He smiled, suddenly brightening. Maybe it'd be a girl and she'd take after her Auntie Bella. Now, _that_ had been a fine woman.

Lucius entered the foyer with his wand dangling loosely from his hand. He threw his arms wide, and shouted, "Draco! My boy!"

The seventh-year's eyes widened suddenly in alarm. He had just enough time to push Severus out of the way and roll behind a bench himself before the expensive Italian marble upon which he'd been standing exploded at Lucius's nonverbal Reducto.

"Well, aren't you a clever little shite? However did you know?" The elder Malfoy's voice was curious.

"You've never welcomed me with open arms and a smile before in my life, old man," Draco sneered.

"Good point," Lucius murmured before he aimed a Slicing hex at the bench behind which his son was hiding. It cracked in half, sending sharp, arm-length splinters of wood in all directions. The blond boy cursed as his non-wand hand was impaled by a slender piece half a meter in size. He Diffindoed the edges so that although his hand was still pierced, the trailing bits of wood were too short to catch on anything.

"Stupefy!" Draco shouted. His father batted it away negligently.

"Good lord, boy. It's a good thing I've decided to kill you. Malfoy's never prance around announcing their spells. It lacks dignity, and moreover, gives your opponent an advantage."

The elder Malfoy deflected a wordless spell from Snape. He could tell that the spell was lacking its usual vigor, and astutely guessed that the traitor's magical reserves were already running low. He threw up a lower level shield to protect himself from Snape's weak attempts, and concentrated instead on destroying his only child.

Spells poured from his wand in every color of the rainbow. It was almost beautiful, really. Malfoys always appreciate things of beauty. He watched dispassionately as his son desperately tried to counter the various hexes and jinxes thrown at him. Small cuts began to appear on his arms and legs, the blood dripping sluggishly. His non-wand arm suddenly dropped lifeless to his side, all of the bones removed. Draco deflected a Frigeo spell almost too late, and the edges of his hair froze and shattered. Lucius saw the boy's Malfoy grey eyes widen suddenly in the knowledge that he couldn't win.

"I alerted Potter," the boy hissed.

"What on earth are you talking about? Potter's not here."

"That you had Ginny and Hermione. I gave him a portkey that took them almost directly to their cells." Draco grinned, and his bloodied smile was in sharp contrast to his father's. "I betrayed you, Father."

The elder Malfoy's eyes sparked furiously, but Lucius maintained a grip on his temper. "Then you did a piss poor job of it like usual. I still got to kill one of them, and the other's trussed up in my library half-flayed. Yes, what a fine son you are. What a good friend."

"I went to Dumbledore after Ginny's death. I offered to spy on you and Voldemort. Snape was the one who saved innocent lives – spiriting muggleborns and their families away at the last possible moment." He laughed. "But Father, I'm the one who told Harry Potter and Dumbledore the location of the last Dark Revel. I set the stage for the Final Battle where the Boy-Who-Lived became the Boy-Who-Lived-Again!"

Lucius felt rage tear up from his toes, through his abdomen and chest, before pouring out of his mouth in an incoherent roar of rage. Spittle frothed at his mouth as he began screaming spells and hexes.

"Diffindo!"

Draco fell back with a slash running diagonally across his face. It had just barely missed his eyes.

"Flipendo!"

Draco flew through the air and crashed into the banister, keening as his back cracked into the wood.

"Incendio!

The boy cried out as robes caught fire, and he dropped to the ground sobbing. His screams built as the fire did, and Severus could smell the stench of cooked flesh. He cast a nonverbal Aguamenti over the younger Malfoy before he could be burned too badly.

"Crucio," Lucius hissed and watched his son writhe on the ground. The pain was so great that the seventh-year couldn't scream. His breath escaped from him in tight, hissing noises that brought Nagini vividly to mind.

Severus recognized what the boy was doing.

How could he not? Draco made no attempt to fight back. He had made himself a living sacrifice to his father's wrath, trying to give Severus enough time to take Lucius down.

It was the same ploy Severus had used to distract the Dark Lord so that a young Harry Potter could kill him from behind. The horror of it astonished him and the boy's sacrifice humbled him. On silent cat feet, the spy stepped up behind Malfoy.

"Avada Kedavra," he said simply, fearfully, angrily.

And Lucius crumpled to the ground, the light of insanity finally extinguished from his eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	23. Chapter 22

_A/N: I am not JK Rowling. Everything that you see here and recognize is her property. This is a work of fanfiction, and as such, I am making no money from this._

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Severus made sure Draco, Ron, and Harry were stable before running to the Library and Hermione. His heart jumped into the back of his mouth when he saw her naked and bloodied body hanging limply in the cuffs of Malfoy's rack.

"Hermione," he crooned gently, not wanting to startle her. "Hermione, sweetheart, wake up." He stroked her face.

She lurched back at his touch, her eyes wild and rolling, teeth bared. Breath hissed out of her mouth, and it was clear she was screaming at him, but no sound emerged. Severus took his wand from his sleeve and cast a Finite Incatatum. The noise that eventually clawed out of her throat like a living creature was ragged and poorly-used. She lunged forward as far as the manacles would allow and hissed.

"Let me get you out of this… contraption," he choked. "Please hold still so I can cut your cuffs. I don't want to hurt you any more than you already are. Can you do that? Can you hear me, Hermione?"

Slowly, he saw reason begin to reappear as the girl climbed out of whatever mental fortress she had constructed to protect herself. Her lips parted. He saw that her teeth were covered in blood. No noise emerged from her mouth. She licked her lips and tried again. "C-Constantine?"

"Yes, it's me. I came for you as fast as I could, Hermione. I am so sorry that he hurt you. So sorry, my dear."

"Constantine?" She started to cry, fat drops pooling down her face.

Severus cleared his throat, and swallowed against the tears that wanted to spill down his face. "Can you hold still for me while I cut you out of the rack?"

Her brows drew together like bloody question marks, and her face took on a pleading expression. "You're going to cut me?" Her voice was small, even smaller than it was before, and it seemed to fold back in on itself as she shrank away from him.

The tears finally spilled down Severus's face. "No, no, my dear. Listen – I am going to cut the metal manacles that are binding you to this horrible device. But I am concerned that if you move while I am using the spell, you will get cut. So all I am asking is for you to hold still."

She cocked her head, her hair bloodied and matted to her skin. "You are trying _not_ to cut me?"

He nodded, and she gave him a small smile and pushed her abused wrists to the very front of the cuffs and became perfectly still. Severus winced when he saw the state of her forearms. There didn't appear to be much flesh remaining.

"Diffindo," he murmured, slowly, carefully removing his love from the rack. When she was finally free, he stepped forward and picked her up, cradling her limp form against his chest.

"I knew you'd come. I didn't know if you would make it in time, but I knew you were doing your best to come and get me," she said as he laid her out on the couch like a lover. "Oh gods!" she cried. "Did you kill him? I hope you killed him. I hope that he's dead and can never touch me again. Is he, Con?"

"Yes, Hermione. He's dead."

The girl sobbed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You came. You came for me. I love you so much." Severus cradled her, and felt his throat tighten with a deep ache that choked off whatever he would have said to her. He nuzzled the side of her neck, hoping that the action said enough.

She sighed and closed her eyes in relief. They didn't open again, but her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Severus released his hold, and sat down on the coffee table and tried to think. Everyone was hurt or dying except for him, and he was so bloody exhausted he couldn't do much for them. He needed to get help. On the southern wall of the Library, there was an enormous fireplace. He stumbled over to it and was relieved to see a bowl of green floo powder on the mantel. Nearly weeping in relief, he grabbed a handful and stated as clearly as he could, "Dumbledore's Office."

There was no flash of light.

Severus snorted. Of course Malfoy would have disconnected the floo. He couldn't have someone trying to floo call him while he was in the middle of his impromptu torture session. It would have been a bit hard to explain why there was a naked and bloody woman in the Malfoy family Library.

He needed aurors. With aurors came medics. He needed medics for Hermione. Oh yes, and Draco, Ron, and Harry. Stumbling back towards the girl collapsed on the couch, he once again resumed his seat across from her on the coffee table.

Well, he was on the verge of passing out from magical depletion. He could only think of one way to get them here, so that is what he would do. They could sort out the consequences later.

Pointing his wand at the ceiling, he drew a sharp line and started the spell. After describing the pattern in the air with the length of ebony wood, he opened his mouth to say the words. They were prickly and burned in his throat like a teeming mass of wasps, causing blood to flow into his mouth. They were dark words that hated being said in the light of day.

"_Morsmordre_," he whispered through a mouthful of coppery liquid tang.

The Dark Mark, as it hung in the sky like a pestilent moon, was blood red.

* * *

Severus woke two days later at St. Mungos.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting at his bed side.

"My dear boy," he murmured. "How are you feeling?"

The Potions master raised his hand sharply and struggled to sit up. He had appeared weak in front of the Headmaster too many times to count, but that was done now. Never again would he show this man his soft underbelly.

"You've used me poorly, old man."

Dumbledore cocked his head. "That is true."

Severus looked away. "Why'd you do it?"

"Ahhh. Malfoy," the Headmaster whispered and spread his hands as if no further explanation was necessary. "He was a cancer that had to be excised. You were a convenient and very, very sharp tool."

"His personal predilections were as horrific as they were illegal. Surely you could have simply involved the law. If it came to light, the Ministry of Magic would have distanced themselves from him so quickly, he'd have been left naked in the cold." Severus's voice was sharp.

"Ah, I see. Just as they did the first time Ms. Granger got on the stand to tell of her terrible ordeal at Malfoy's hands? Lucius was out of Azkaban and back on the board of governors within six months, my boy. No, we had to take him out of politics permanently. As distasteful as his sexual deviation was, it was his activities in the legislature that prompted me to take such… drastic action. Did you know – he was very nearly successful in having muggleborns tagged with tracking charms by the Ministry? It would have been an abomination! It signaled a return to Grindewaldian policies, and I just couldn't let that happen."

"So you dangled us in front of him like a sacrifice? Surely you knew that would drive him as crazy as a shark in bloodied waters." He shook his head. "Tagging muggleborns is an abomination, but what you did to us was no better."

"I'm ready to make it right, Severus. Grant you your life again." The Headmaster made a gesture towards the copper cuff. "You can rejoin the Hogwarts staff, and you no longer have to worry about Death Eaters targeting you for revenge. You can walk down the streets of Hogsmeade without fear of reprisal for your role in the Second Vold War."

"I have no desire to rejoin the teaching staff, Albus, and no wish to walk down the streets of Hogsmeade with my head held high." Severus turned his face to gaze out the window. It was a dismal, sooty December day in London. "You've given me… different dreams now."

"My dear boy, I know what you want." Dumbledore's voice was compassionate, and his Potions master turned to look at him. "You must know it's impossible. She doesn't even know who you are!"

"And whose fault is that?" the black-haired man snarled.

"This…friendship with Ms. Granger has served its purpose, Severus. It's time to let it go. I know it will be difficult, but…"

Severus lost his temper. He fisted his hands in his bed sheets so that he didn't wrap them around Dumbledore's frail neck. "You sodding bastard. You set us up! You practically _gave_ her to me, hoping that I would care about her. You bloody well made sure of it. And then you let him take her away from me, knowing that I'd dismantle heaven and earth to get back to her, to protect her. That's _unthinkable_. That's _horrific_. You've got to know that."

Dumbledore pursed his lips. "Of course I didn't _want_ to hurt either one of you. I didn't think it would get so far where - "

"I've been fucking her for a _month_, you old fool." Severus was white-lipped with fury. "Every chance I got. Everywhere I could." He nodded when he saw the Headmaster's appalled expression. "Because you knew, and you didn't tell me. You had to make sure I was in the right position to take out Lucius Malfoy when the explosion finally happened and my memories returned. So you waited and allowed me to continue my relationship with her.

"You took away my dignity as a teacher. I was already a murderer, an arsonist, a brewer of the darkest of potions, and a follower of the most evil dark wizard of the century. My morals as a teacher were one of the few things I had left of which I could be proud… the one spot on my soul that wasn't rotten and warped and riddled with holes, and you took that from me."

Dumbledore blanched when he saw the dark-haired man's face fill with hatred. Severus nodded, his mouth a hard line.

"Even that I could forgive you. Hell, I'm used to it by now. I've already been through every sort of degradation that is possible for one man to go through and still survive." His voice hardened. "But I shall _never_ forgive you the harm that this has done to Hermione. Can you imagine how she'll feel if she discovers she was sleeping with me, and not Constantine Prince, a seventh-year Gryffindor? And if that wasn't enough, you put her in terrible danger." His voice broke and he held up his hands, fingers spread in a accusation of culpability. "She got _hurt_ because of her relationship with me. Hermione was so frightened when I found her, she didn't recognize me at first. She was drenched in her own blood – a horrific sacrifice on the altar of your ego… your need to manipulate."

The man's eyes burned as he stared at the elderly wizard. His voice dropped an octave, and took on an icy chill. "No, that… _that_ I shall never forgive you."

Dumbledore sighed and readjusted his half-moon spectacles. "I know. I know that what I've done will always hang between us, sick and red." He was silent for a moment. "It's time to end this farce. Let me call the three remaining Order members who wear a copy of that cuff so we can turn you back into Severus Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts."

The man in the hospital bed jerked his left wrist behind his back. "She needs me right now. Just while she heals, and then – and then I'll come back to you of my own free will, and we'll take the cuff off." Severus could see the hesitation on the Headmaster's face. "You _owe_ me this favor. I will not allow it to end like this, Albus."

"Very well. You may stay Constantine Prince until Ms. Granger is back at Hogwarts in her own rooms. But then you _must_ go back to your own age. The Order members who are carrying your additional years are _suffering_ for it. It ages them, slows their reflexes, drains their magic. Think of Alastor Moody, Severus."

The Headmaster stood up and walked to the door of Severus's hospital room. "My boy, I am so sorry for the pain and torment I've caused to both you and Ms. Granger. I know it is more than most could bear, and it hurt me to do it as well for I love you as I'd love my own flesh and blood. However, you must know that I would do it again in a heartbeat."

The Potions master nodded as he lay back in his bed. "I know, Albus. And that is another reason I shall not forgive you."

* * *

He sat at her bedside for two days straight. Potter and Draco had been long-since discharged, and Weasley was beginning his rehabilitation to strengthen the newly rebuilt muscles that crossed his chest. But still she didn't wake.

Hermione had nightmares much of the time, and Severus felt helpless to calm her. Initially, he tried talking to her, crooning out nonsense words of comfort and affection. She had reacted very negatively to that, thrashing in the bed until her legs and arms had become tangled and restrained in the hospital sheets. She'd cry tight, choking sobs as she struggled.

_Gods, I am truly an idiot_, he thought, suddenly remembering the way Lucius had liked to speak to his victims like a lover. _"I fancy myself rather in love with you,_" he remembered Malfoy crooning to Dorcas Meadows as he sliced her skin and offered her up for gang rape.

And so, Severus dropped his voice into his normal, acidic tones like lowering a bucket down a poisoned well. "Hermione, I just want you to know that I am here for you. I've already fought Weasley off twice today quite valiantly. He brought a box of his mother's gods-awful taffy, swearing it was one of your favorites. The idiot was going to shove it down your throat! I calmly explained to him that you weren't awake to chew it and – and… oh bloody hell, I'm lying through my teeth. I picked him up by the scruff of his neck and threw him out of the room." He smirked. "And I called him a nightmarish crossbreed of stupidity and ugliness, wrapped up in a ball of ginger fur. Not one of my better insults to be certain. But I have other things on my mind." He picked up her hand, noticing that she had relaxed and curled up onto her side in her normal sleep position. She breathed in and out regularly, and Severus wiped tears from his face. "You have to be okay, Hermione. I'm waiting here for you."

Slowly, carefully, he climbed up behind her and fitted his front to her back, allowing his arm to drape over her stomach. He was concerned that she would feel restrained by his hold and would panic – so his arms were as gentle as blades of grass bending beneath the wind. Severus hadn't slept well in days for worrying about her, and when she snuggled back against him, his eyes drooped and he drifted off to sleep.

He was content to be curled around her once more, a parenthesis on the end of her thought.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, she felt completely at peace.

She blinked. That was unexpected. She probed at her memories, and bit her lip as the stink of her fear and blood and the fetid odor of Malfoy's breath came back with as much terror as ever. However, she was able to hold them at bay like a beast with her hand on its throat because right now, she knew she was perfectly safe.

It was the scent of juniper and bayberry, you see.

_Home_, it made her think. _Severus_. Yes, he was here with her, holding her loosely in his arms. She felt safe. His chest rose and fell with a steady rhythm against her back, and his warm breath tickled the fine hairs at her neck. Hermione smiled (_smiled!_) at the familiarity of it.

Trying her best not to wake him, she slid away from his warm embrace in tiny, scooching movements so as not to rock the bed. She sat up with exquisite slowness and winced as the bed creaked beneath her shifting weight. With her legs hanging off the edge, she took stock of her body.

She had clearly been given Dermi-Grow Potion by the nursing staff at St. Mungos. The skin on her forearms was now smooth and unblemished except for faint white lines that ran around both of her wrists and just underneath both elbows. Ah, yes. That was where Lucius had tried to flay her. Not so bad. She had walked away from that one with some remembered pain and some tiny scars that looked like they would fade within a few years.

The skin over her sternum was unblemished, leaving her no physical reminder of that first terrible cut that had left Malfoy so excited. She bit her lip.

There was a thick white bandage wrapped around her upper right thigh where he had cut a big, meaty chunk from her, but bouncing her fist on it, she felt no pain. It seemed that too, was going to heal easily. She crossed her arms over her chest and felt uneasy.

Hermione was almost relieved when she found the brand of the Dark Mark on her hip bone. He'd held it against her skin until she was sure that he'd charred her down to the bone, and it appeared that St. Mungos had not been able to heal this one without leaving a scar. She traced it carefully with the tip of her finger, running the digit over the shiny, pink skin of the skull and snake. The rest of the marks he had placed upon her hide had been magicked away, leaving her feeling restless and unsettled; as if it might never have happened except in her head. It made her feel… unbalanced.

But the brand grounded her. It was a guidepost in the desert.

That ugly Dark Mark, the sign of everything evil in the Wizarding World for the last twenty years, made her feel as if somehow she could get through this. Hermione felt that seeing a physical manifestation of her torture was equivalent to airing out the musty corners of her brain. She wanted to hide this experience deep down in the clammy dungeons of her subconscious and deny that it ever happened. However, it was impossible to do with the Morsmordre sitting in plain sight. She was Hermione Granger, and she was a survivor. She'd been there, done that, and had the scars to prove it.

Exhausted, she laid back down and turned to face her lover. Hermione jumped when she saw his black eyes looking at her.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked, a fond irritation in her voice.

He gave a relieved smile when he heard her playful tone. "Long enough." His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and touched the brand. "Makes it real, doesn't it?"

Hermione smiled a true smile. _He understands_. "It does. I haven't decided yet if that's a positive or a negative." She reached out and stroked his cheek with gentle fingers. Severus's eyes fluttered shut and a tear slipped from under his eyelid.

"I was so afraid that I wasn't going to make it in time, my dear."

"But you did, and I am so very grateful."

Severus looked at her, and his eyes were filled with pain. He pursed his lips, and breathed in deeply through his nose. "Hermione…"

She made a noise of inquiry as she buried her nose in his neck, inhaling his scent. Gods, but he smelled good. Brushing his hair back from his face, she enjoyed his presence, steadfast and comforting. She felt so safe with him here.

When he didn't say anything, she looked up and was surprised to see him struggling with words. His eyes were raised to the ceiling, and his brows were furrowed. "What is it, Constantine?"

"Did Lucius… did he… What I'm trying to say is that Lucius had you for several hours, and I want to know if he hurt you… in ways that are not immediately apparent. It's something we should tell the Healer, if he did. I need to make sure you are all right, Hermione."

She smiled at him, the faintest curving of her lips. "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that I am all right. However, I know that I _will be_ all right with a little time." Hermione ran her hand through her curly hair and sighed. "Malfoy didn't… He didn't get that far. I think he was waiting for you, to make you watch. I was cut and burned and beaten and frightened nearly out of my wits, but I'm healing and I've got you beside me. It will all come out right. You'll see. I promise you."

The man lying in her bed bit his lip. His face was a study in love and torment, but he only nodded and held his arms out to her. As she laid her head on his chest, his hands clenched in her hair as tightly as a dying man seeking salvation.

Hermione knew she had to tell him that she knew who he was, but she was so tired and she needed him so badly she couldn't do it yet. She promised herself that she would tell him just as soon as she was back in her Head Girl's rooms at Hogwarts. Propping herself up on an elbow, she brushed her lips over his.

* * *

_**A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it!!**_


	24. Chapter 23

_A/N: Everything you recognize is JK Rowling's. I'm just playing with her puppets._

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* * *

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**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Stop fussing so much! I'm _fine_." Her voice was fond and exasperated as the three boys fluttered around her, touching and petting her and arguing over who would carry her bag.

"Look, Weasel! I don't _care_ how long you've known her, she's my girl, and she'll walk on _my_ arm. You," Severus imbued the word with great distaste, "_You_ can carry her bag. Potter! For gods' sakes! Stop _petting_ her! Can't you see you're making her uncomfortable?" He scowled fiercely at Harry who had a hand stroking down his friend's hair. Severus was man enough to admit to himself that he didn't like the fawning attentions of her very good, very _male_ friends.

Hermione laughed. "I think you are the only one who's uncomfortable, Con. Harry's just glad to see me up and about and coming back to Hogwarts." She smiled a radiant smile that made them all catch their breaths collectively. "Come here, boys. I'm so glad to see you. Thank you all so much for coming for me at Malfoy Manor." She held her arms open, and Ron and Harry fell into them like puppies, snuffling in her hair and wrapping their hands tightly in her cloak.

"'Mione, we'll always come for you. Just try not to let it happen again soon, okay? We're still recovering," the redhead said, smiling playfully. Harry nodded and gave her hair a sharp tug.

Hermione looked past them to where the blond, patrician boy was standing by himself on the stone staircase that led into Hogwarts. "And Draco…"

He held up a long-fingered hand, stopping her speech. His eyes were solemn, but friendly. A scar ran diagonally from above his left eyebrow across the bridge of his nose and down underneath his right eye. It gave him a dangerous, rather picaresque appearance that counterbalanced his pretty-boy looks quite well. "No need to thank me, Granger. After all, I came into my inheritance early and picked up this nifty scar along the way." He smiled coolly as she stepped closer to him, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "The girls drop their panties even faster now. It's a distinct _whooshing_ sound, you know. Why, if I'd realized, I'd have gotten one of these _years _ago."

Hermione took advantage of his close proximity and wrapped her arms around his slender waist and tugged him up against her. He squawked and his arms waved awkwardly, refusing to close them around her. "Merlin's undershorts, girl. Let go of me! You're going to get mud all over my robes!"

She released him sighing, and Draco saw three pairs of eyes trained on his face that were identical in their censure of him. Harry, Ron, and Severus stood in front of them with their arms crossed over their chests. Draco blinked, confused. "What?" Comprehension dawned suddenly, and he shouted, "Oh, shut the hell up! It wasn't a slur. It rained like the bloody dickens last night! Look at the hem of her robe!"

"Thank you, Draco," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. "For everything."

Pink suffused his face and he mumbled something totally unintelligible while he tugged at his blond forelock. He cleared his throat and straightened, tapping his Malfoy reserves of dignity. "I'm pleased to see you looking so well, Granger. I'll see you tomorrow in Arithmancy." He sketched a small bow and turned on his heel, leaving them in the entrance hall.

"You two boys are lovely, but I think I'll have a bit of a lie down now if you don't mind. Constantine can help me to my room. Hand my bag back. Even my girly muscles can manage a single flight of steps, you twits."

They grumbled as they relinquished her into the long-haired man's care. "Will we see you at dinner, Hermione?" Harry asked her.

"Yeah, it's pot roast night! You love pot roast."

"Actually, Ronald, you happen to be the one who loves pot roast. I'm the one who nags you to floss after eating it." Her voice was dry.

He groaned. "Oh, yeah. In the glow of having you back, I'd forgotten how swotty you are."

"I'll see you this evening for supper, then. I'll bring my dental floss for you." She made a shooing gesture with her hands.

"That means leave now, you twin blemishes on Dumbledore's ass." Severus turned to Hermione and whispered, "Weasel is the pimple. Potter is the blackhead. Just to clarify." He smirked when she giggled, and he cast a triumphant glance at the other two thirds of the Golden Trio. They rolled their eyes and left, taking a moment to kiss their friend on each cheek. "Shall we?" he asked her, offering the crook of his arm.

"Of course."

He led her up the stairs.

­­­­­­

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Draco sat outside by the Quidditch Pitch.

"So, we did it," Harry whispered while watching the Hufflepuffs practice.

"Well," Draco said matter-of-factly. "_Some_ of us did it, yes. Others of us were not of much use at all as they were passed out in the hallway."

"Prat," Harry sighed.

Ron leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head, wincing as the muscles in his chest pulled slightly. "Ugh, those Chasers are rubbish," he said pointing to the Hufflepuff team. One of them, a fifth year girl fumbled and dropped the Quaffle, and it fell like a stone to the pitch below. "If Ginny were here, she'd make some smartass comment."

Harry spoke in a falsetto. "Honestly, have they got hands or elbows?"

Draco and Ron snickered. "Hate to burst your bubble mate, but that one she reserved specifically for you when you were off your game," Ron said.

"What? No!"

"Afraid so."

Draco sighed. "No, she probably would have said something like, 'Oh dear! I do believe those poor Chasers have mistaken the game of Quidditch for a tea party and the Quaffle for a pretty bonnet that needs admiring. Someone should go take advantage of those fools while their heads are shoved up their arses.'" He smiled in fond recollection. His grey eyes were as soft as goose down. "Funny girl, your sis," he said to Ron.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "You knew Ginny?"

"No, I'm just trying to fit in with you two lackwits."

"Oh."

The three boys were silent for a long while. Harry chewed on the nails of his right hand.

Draco sighed. "As much as I love tormenting you, she and I were just friends. Stop your worrying."

Harry looked surprised. "I know that, mate. I was just wondering why you never talked about her before. In fact, I'm surprised the three of us have never before sat just where we are sitting now, and reminisced about Ginny and how wonderful she was."

Ron and Draco shared a look that Harry couldn't interpret.

The redhead leaned forward and spoke. "All right, then. I'll go first. Once, when we were just kids, Ginny wanted me to teach her how to fly a broomstick. When I asked her why, she told me it was so that she could play Quidditch with us boys. I laughed at her and told her that girls were always rubbish at Quidditch and should be banned from playing. She conned Mum into teaching her some household charms, and she sewed the arm and leg holes to all my shirts and pants shut. Harry, you go next. Please remember she was my sister, and I'd prefer not to hear anything that makes me want to kill you."

"Once, Ginny caught me looking at a girl wearing low-cut robes. She was super nice to me about the whole thing, and even said, 'Right, Harry. Look I know you're a bloke and you just can't help it. Girly breasts just draw the male eye like Ron to pot roast. Because you're a poor, drooling beast, I'll make it easier on you!' And then she charmed me so that every time I looked down at my own chest or caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I thought I was looking at a pair of really luscious bosoms. Okay, Draco. Your turn."

"God, Potter. You're seriously pathetic. What on earth would make you _admit_ to that story?"

"Insulting me won't get you out of it, Draco. Come on then. Let's hear a Ginny story." Harry smiled at the blond.

Draco looked down at his hands. "I don't have any funny stories really. She was… just a really good friend. We'd argue about Quidditch nonstop, but she was there for me with a lot of stuff. You know," he paused and looked up Ron and Harry, his eyes nervous and skittish. "She's the one that helped me convince Mum to check into the Celestine Warbeck Clinic. I just… loved that she talked to me like she talked to any boy who loved Quidditch." He laughed suddenly. "Well, no. She talked to me like she talked to any boy who she thought was mentally deficient and loved Quidditch. A little patronizing. A little scolding. Called me a moron many times."

"I always knew Ginny was a smart girl," Harry said, laughing.

"Aaaaaand that's it. I've hit the upper limits of my tolerance level for hanging out with Harry Potter." Draco stood up and brushed his robes off. "Fuck off and don't bother me for a while, will you?" He stalked back towards Hogwarts and didn't spare a glance back at the boys he was leaving behind him.

"What do you think that was all about?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Well, he just admitted something personal to you, but he still hates your guts." Ron cocked his head and smiled. "But I think he kind of views you as a friend, too."

"Really?" the black-haired boy asked, perking up a bit.

"Yes, but don't let it go to your head. I think it makes him want to vomit."

But Harry wasn't listening. "Imagine that. Me and Draco Malfoy are kind of, sort of friends."

* * *

Severus watched Hermione flop onto her bed with an _oompf_ and smiled. She held her arms out to him and gave him a wicked come-hither glance that made his cock twitch in remembrance of all the wonderful times he'd seen that look before.

"You have such a wicked mouth," he murmured, smiling.

"The better to eat you with, my dear." Her voice was ripe with desire, and he imagined that if he reached out a hand he'd be able to grasp it like a peach that was taut and yielded to his fingers. Hermione's clever digits grabbed him by the waistband of his pants and tugged him closer so that she could work on his belt buckle.

He grasped her hands gently and pulled them away from his body. "Can I just lie next to you and hold you for a while? I shall never be able to get enough of it even if I live to be two hundred."

Hermione was surprised, but she nodded and reached out for him.

Severus sank into her arms and allowed his body to press hers into the bed. He shivered slightly and she tenderly pulled her coverlet up to cocoon them both. His lips trailed up her soft neck, and he enjoyed her familiar smell while her fingers played with his long, limp hair.

He wanted her quite badly, and imagined sinking into her tight, wet heat and fucking her until she screamed his name. And that was the problem – his name. Severus was sad to see that his conscience was winning the battle over his libido, but he knew that it wouldn't be fair to her to continue until he revealed his identity. He wouldn't take her ability to choose away from her. Sliding off of her slightly, he curled up on his side and stared at her profile, trying to burn her features onto the fabric of his mind. Hermione felt his eyes upon her and turned to face him, smiling.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers through her nest of tangled curls gently so as not to snag them on a knot and hurt her. Her brown eyes were soft and loving, and he leaned forward to kiss her lips lightly.

As Severus kissed her, his heart swelled and he knew – he just _knew_ that this was it.

He couldn't do it.

Drawing back to look her in the eye, he ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. Hermione smirked and flicked him on the ear.

He couldn't leave her behind.

She was everything to him. The thought that he'd never hear her laughter, or work on Potions research, or make love to her in their bed ever again was anathema to him, and he was finally able to admit it to himself. It didn't matter who he was. He didn't care about their ages or what others would say. There was no longer any path in front of him that did not lead to her. Severus was a battered, unworthy man that loved her with everything in him, and without her, he'd dry up and blow away on the wind like a locust skin.

Getting no response to her teasing, she pouted and flicked him harder on the ear. He swallowed his delight and instead frowned and bit her on the shoulder with his crooked teeth and growled. Hermione squealed and squirmed, trying to get away from his mouth, and when he finally released her, she raked her fingers down his ribs. He laughed until tears streamed down his face, and he wasn't sure if he was crying because he was happy or because he was frightened out of his wits. Nudging him onto his back, she straddled him and pinned his hands above his head.

"Do you give up?" she growled, showing him her baby canines in false ferocity.

The smile that grew on his face was organic and real and very dear. "Absolutely. I am at your mercy, Hermione. You devastate me."

Her mouth was warm and sweet like honey and Severus took a moment to savor this just in case it never happened again. He nibbled on her bottom lip, and she made a gentle noise in the back of her throat. Their tongues slid against each other slowly, tasting and savoring, and he weakened slightly and allowed his hands to slide up her sides to cup her breasts gently.

Pushing her away slightly, he rearranged her until she was cradled against his side, her head on his chest. "Hermione…"

"Hmm…" She was playing with a strand of his black hair.

Severus took a deep breath and his heart sped up. She felt it, and tilted her face to look him in the eye.

"Hermione, I love you."

It felt unnatural and foreign rolling off his tongue, so he tried again. He cleared his throat lightly and whispered, "I'm in love with you."

The change in her face was electric. The color drained from her cheeks before a becoming flush crept up her neck and face. Her expression was a study in happiness, and the Potions master felt his heart clench. Severus only hoped that she remained this happy when he revealed his identity.

"I love you, too. So very much," she cried, and then their mouths pressed together hungrily and she was beneath him with her fingers fisting in his hair, and oh gods, it felt good to have the woman he loved beneath him, writhing and passionate. But Severus knew the time wasn't right, and so he gave her one last kiss and pulled away. She mewled, discontented, but unspooled her arms from his neck.

"I have a promise to keep, Hermione, but then I want to sit down and have a serious discussion with you. Could you meet me after dinner in Greenhouse Eleven?"

"What kind of promise?"

"It's… well, I have to meet with the Headmaster one last time. I'll tell you all about it when I meet you this evening. That is, if you are free?" Tonight, in the greenhouse where they had first come together, he was going to reveal who he was, and ask her to plan a future with him. But first, he had to return his stolen years as he'd promised the Old Arse at St. Mungos. "It's very important, love."

He watched in interest as several emotions flitted across her face too quickly for him to identify. She nodded. "Seven o'clock in the Greenhouse then."

Severus stroked his hand down her cheek, and gave her one last, lingering kiss before disentangling himself from her arms and walking towards the door.

Hermione was watching him with a hooded expression. "Remember that I love you no matter what."

He nodded gravely and left her there, lying in bed with her lips puffy from his kisses and her hair tangled from his fingers.

* * *

_A/N: So, it was a chapter that was a bit of a holding pattern for our two lovers, but I think Draco, Ron, and Harry are well on their way to being friends, and I think that successfully rescuing Hermione and Lucius Malfoy's death did a lot to bring closure to Ginny's death. Next chapter... It's the one that everyone's been waiting for. It's the big reveal!!_

_Also, I've decided that the next big fic I do will take place in this universe, and will feature Draco as our primary male lead. I'm taking a poll: With whom do you guys think I should pair him? Keep in mind: SAME UNIVERSE! That means suggestions of Hermione and Ginny will be summarily dismissed and I will release a flock of flying monkeys to hover over your house and fling poo at you for not being a critical reader. Male or female is perfectly acceptable. I reserve the right to ignore you all._

_Okay, you know the drill by now. Like it, love it, hate it, review it._


	25. Chapter 24

_A/N: Sorry for the delay!! This market is kicking my butt - working in finance has been pretty rough this week, obviously._

_Just a note to say - this material is rated M for mature material under the guidelines laid out by . If you are under 18, I'd ask that you please don't read. For those of you that are 18, and you wish to read the story but not the smut, you are safe to read all sections but the last one. The last one is pure smut. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Severus stood by the gargoyle and tapped his foot on the stone staircase that led to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had kept him waiting for the last twenty minutes, and the Potions master was impatient to get this over with so he could go back to his careful planning of how to woo Hermione to his side.

The evening sprawled before him stuffed with frightening potential. He allowed himself a moment to imagine the girl seeing him and a smile breaking across her face as she realized the man she loved was actually her snarky Potions professor. Severus snorted. More likely she'd want to gag but would be too nice to let it show. Hermione would try to let him down easy. Maybe she'd ask for time apart.

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat, uncomfortable. No, that didn't seem right. She might be young, but Hermione wasn't shallow, and when she loved, she loved deeply. Despite everything that he knew was stacked against them, Severus felt… hopeful.

Minerva McGonagall ascended the staircase and regarded Severus with a gimlet eye.

"_Mister_ Prince," she said, her mouth a disapproving bow.

"Minerva," he replied with aplomb.

Her mouth thinned. "So, you remember then?"

"It would seem so." Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down his long, beaky nose at her. "And I shall not forget the part you had in this."

"Why do I suspect that is not a 'thank you,' as would be appropriate, Severus?"

"Because despite allowing Dumbledore to lead you around like a bull with a ring through its nose, you have always been an astute woman. You are correct. It was an aspersion, and not approbation." His voice was like a cold wind that blew between them.

"I tried to warn you, you ungrateful man." Her hand fluttered to her throat and she leaned away from him, taken aback by his tone.

"You tried to warn someone who thought he was an eighteen year old boy away from a girl that he thought to be his ideal match." Severus waved his hand impatiently. "But that's not the issue to which I was referring. Surely you could see what Dumbledore was planning. After all, if his goal was to protect me – why would he hide me in plain sight?"

"Since when has Albus seen fit to divulge his plans to us?"

"Your point is well-made, Minerva. However, it would have been nice if he had let us know what he was doing before he dangled Ms. Granger in front of Malfoy like a piece of meat. Perhaps we could have come up with a better plan that did not put the brightest witch of her age in mortal danger. Perhaps there was some way we could have saved Hermione hours of torture under Lucius's clever knife." He leaned forward and whispered in the older woman's ear. "Don't you think there were kinder ways to take down Malfoy than to sic me on him so that I might find my eighteen year old lover naked and brutalized and half-crazed with fear?"

"Oh!" he heard a feminine voice cry. Severus turned to see Poppy Pomfrey standing behind him and holding a shaking hand to her mouth. A copper cuff banded her wrist.

"Poppy…" His voice softened for the woman who had mothered him when his own mother wouldn't or couldn't. She looked worn and ancient and brittle, and Severus's mouth took on a bitter bent. The elderly mediwitch should never have been asked to carry the weight of his years.

"Severus, is that true?" A tear tracked down her wrinkled cheek. "I thought we were _helping_ you until we could brew the antidote. My dear, I thought it would be a relief for you to be able to forget! I am so sorry!"

"You were part of this?" Severus's voice was raw and very young sounding. "Oh, Poppy! You know me better than that."

"I didn't know! Albus said he'd watch over you."

"Oh yes. Albus watched me. That is for sure."

The three were interrupted when the Headmaster opened the door to his office. Remus Lupin was waiting inside.

"Are you kidding me? You asked the _werewolf_, too? For gods' sake, should I be expecting fucking Longbottom to show up next?" Severus shouldered his way past the two men and into the sitting area. "Let's get this over with. I have much more pressing business to which I must attend."

Severus stood in the center of the pentagram, flanked at four of the five points by Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, and Albus Dumbledore. The fifth point was empty, and the Potions master surmised that was where Alastor Moody would have stood had he survived. In his place, the Headmaster had put a pedestal with the Auror's copper cuff.

"Poppy, will you start? Just like I showed you," Dumbledore said.

Her mouth set in an unhappy line, the mediwitch raised her wand. "_Eram quod es, eris quod sum._" The cuff fell from her and a gust of graying, ugly magic oozed from her pores and into the air. As it separated from her, she stood straighter and it seemed as if several large cares fell from her shoulders. When the last drop had left her, Severus stiffened.

He's already gotten back his most painful and volatile years when Moody died. He was a Death Eater between his eighteenth and twenty-third year, and the tortures he'd undergone at the hands of Voldemort had lashed his body with the worst of his scars. As the years that Poppy had been carrying sank into his flesh, he felt several smaller scars burn and set in his hands and legs from various Potions accidents the dunderheads in his classroom had caused.

When the last of the gray mist had been absorbed, he stood upright, a man of twenty-eight.

Remus Lupin then waved his wand and chanted, "_Eram quod es, eris quod sum._" This time, Severus felt little change. He smirked. He'd gotten his first pair of dragon hide boots and Potion-proofed robes for his twenty-ninth birthday. It had greatly reduced his injuries. Still, he could feel the cotton wool of those five years settle upon him, casting a slight fuzz upon his vision and a mesh of fine lines to his thirty-three-year-old face.

Minerva McGonagall stepped forward, and Severus caught his breath. The next five years had been particularly difficult for the spy. He'd been forced to rejoin Voldemort and had suffered greatly because the dark wizard had doubted the Potions master's loyalty. Severus had been forced to endure the Cruciatus Curse for long intervals separated by physical abuse for the first few days after rejoining the Dark Lord. When the Transfigurations professor murmured, "_Eram quod es, eris quod sum_," he crashed to the ground, screaming and shaking as the bones in his body broke and reknit themselves. He blinked, his lips pulled back in a silent howl of pain, and a single tear drop ran from the corner of his eye to his temple.

Poppy darted forward as if to help him, but a sharp look from Dumbledore stopped her in her tracks.

Swallowing against his nausea, Severus dragged himself to his feet, wincing as one of his hips popped. Lucius had taken great pleasure in shattering that particular joint with the toe of his steel-enforced boots. The familiar aches and pains of his thirty-eight year old body settled over him like a shroud. He grimaced and rotated a shoulder gingerly that had been dislocated repeatedly.

He turned to face Dumbledore. "You may consider this my resignation. I will be moved out of my rooms in a week."

The blue eyes were solemn behind his crescent-moon spectacles. "I wish you'd reconsider despite the taint that exists between us. You are a truly excellent professor, Severus."

"You know very well that I was a rubbish professor. I always hated teaching, and there's no doubt that it showed. Besides, now that I've been so forcefully made aware of my worth as a chess piece I wouldn't stay here if you begged. Once Hermione is graduated, there will be no more ties to bind me to this place."

"Oh, Severus! You can not possibly expect to hold that dear girl to a declaration of love when she didn't even know who…"

"Minerva, for once in your life, hold that catty, prudish tongue of yours." The Potions master smoothed his hands down his clothes, and handily transfigured them into his normal black garb. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Severus Snape stalked from the room wearing the tatters of his dignity like they were a robe fit for a king.

* * *

Hermione gasped as she entered the greenhouse. Someone had placed hundreds of flickering candles along the glass walls, encircling the interior in its entirety. There were also candles floating in the jenett pond and hanging in the air above her head. The entire room was flooded with a gentle, golden light, and her heart jumped when she thought of Severus going to the trouble to make this romantic.

She glanced around the room and finally saw him standing with his back to her underneath the tree in the corner. It appeared as if he was looking outside, but it was so dark that she imagined all he could see was his own reflection in the panes of glass. He ran a fingertip between his brows and over the skin at the corner of his eyes. His shoulders slumped as if defeated.

"Hello," she said with loving warmth.

"Hermione." He did not turn around, and she understood, the knowledge bursting within her like the rising sun on a dreamer's mind. His voice had lost the smooth curves of adolescence and deepened into the whiskey baritone of Professor Snape.

"Hello, Severus," she began again, her voice just as warm as her initial greeting.

The Potions master whirled to face her. "You know? You knew?"

Hermione examined his beloved face. Yes, she had known he was Severus Snape, and she had known what he looked like in his true form. A memory, however, was an entirely distinct thing from being suddenly faced with him in all of his snarky glory. Her eyes saw him differently than before, after all. She understood now that the forbidding brow that had caused years of Potions classes terror was actually the brow of a man poorly-used and forced into a profession he detested. The mouth that was bracketed by grooves too deep for a man only thirty-eight years old was the mouth of a man who had been consistently denied affection. But his beautiful, slender hands were just the same. She saw both her lover and her meticulous professor, and her stomach muscles tightened at the memory of his clever, gentle fingers on her skin.

"Yes," she whispered.

Spots of color bloomed in his cheeks, and he stepped forward.

"Is… were you trying to tell me so before I left you this morning to meet with Albus?" He examined his dragonhide boots as if they held the secrets of Hermione's heart. Severus's face was devoid of expression, but the girl knew him well enough to see that he was terrified of her response.

She stepped closer to him, and his eyes jerked up to meet hers.

"Of course." Hermione reached out and touched his robes, sliding her hands up to fist in his lapels. "And I'll tell you again: I love you, no matter what." She moved to pull him towards her, but he was immoveable, a fixed structure bolted to the floor.

His face was anguished as he said, "But I'm so much older than you, my dear. Surely when you told me that you loved me you had expectations of a life with a younger man than me." His hands covered hers where they rested against his chest.

Hermione stepped forward so that her body was pressed tightly to his. "I had expectations of a life lived with the man I loved, you big dummy. Now shut up and kiss me."

And that was all he needed to hear.

* * *

The Potions master wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled her against his lean frame so tightly that not even a speck of light shone through the space between them. A smile played across his thin lips as he tangled his hands in her curls with an exultant gleam in his eyes. His gaze was locked on hers as he eased down towards her, moving slowly to give her time to move away if she changed her mind.

As his mouth touched hers, he watched her eyes for any sign of reluctance or revulsion. He was surprised when her lids fluttered shut and Hermione made a small sound in the back of her throat that screamed _want_. Opening her mouth, she sucked gently on his lower lip and he lost himself. His eyes slammed shut and his beautiful, careful hands slipped down to cup her bum and press her belly tight to his straining erection.

She wanted him. She _wanted_ him. _She_ wanted _him_.

Severus pushed her away for a moment and unbuttoned his robes. He laid them on the ground next to their jenett pool and transfigured them into a comfortable mattress stuffed with down. He straightened from his task to see her staring at him with hot, knowing eyes and his cock jumped at the feminine expression.

Hermione pointed at the mattress. "Lie down."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Do it, Severus. I want to explore every inch of you."

He was not the sort of man who took orders well, but it was the way she said "_Severus._" It held such clarity and beauty coming from her lips that he was sure if he picked up his name and shook it, it would ring like a bell. After unbuttoning his frock coat he laid down on his back and propped himself up on his elbows with a sardonic expression that said, _Well?_

Taking a shaky breath, she ran her hands down her front, cupping her breasts and arching slightly into her own hands. "I know you are having trouble believing that I want you, but you have no idea how beautiful you are right now. Your eyes are burning and you are so graceful in your monochrome black." Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she began to unbutton her shirt.

His eyes were riveted to the skin she was slowly revealing. Severus groaned when he saw that she was wearing a skimpy green bra with lace straps. He was glad he'd cast a cloaking charm around the greenhouse. The Potions master was a greedy man, and he didn't want to share the sight of Hermione standing over him and writhing in lust.

Her hands fell to her skirt and slid it slowly down her hips, her thumbs tucked under the waistband. His mouth went dry when he saw her perfect matching panties. Severus propped himself up and stretched out a hand to touch a gently curved hip. He frowned when she smacked him away.

"Ah ah ah. I get to explore first." Hermione knelt down and straddled his lap. She pressed her lips to his playfully and pulled his shirt open, scattering buttons over the floor of the room. "Mmm," she said in appreciation. "Lie back." Severus complied and felt his shirt and frock coat spread open on the ground beneath him like wings. "I think you're a bit more muscular now."

He smirked. "It was easier to recover from Voldemort's punishments if I stayed in shape, although I think you are flattering me shamelessly." Severus touched her mouth. "Do continue, please."

A secretive smile bloomed on her mouth. She unbuttoned the placket of his trousers and freed his erection, sucking in her breath when she saw a deep, puckered scar low on his abdomen. She touched it gently.

"Lucius Malfoy. That was a close one." He laughed harshly, and then cursed himself when he saw a shadow cross her face. Was he an idiot? What was he thinking, conjuring that psychopath's name in their bed?

He watched her eyes became dark and shuttered before she finally hissed, "I'm glad that bastard's dead. I love you so much, and I love you even more for killing him for me." Her face was fierce as she pulled her long curly hair over her left shoulder and leaned down, taking his cock in her mouth.

Watching himself disappear down her throat was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen. She knelt over him on her hands and knees in her skimpy matching bra and panties set, her little hand wrapped around the base of his thick shaft. Her lips were stretched around him and curled slightly around her teeth as her head bobbed up and down, small sucking noises occasionally breaking the seal of her mouth on his cock. Hermione pulled off him slightly and darted a wicked glance up at him. The tip of her tongue played with his slit, and he suddenly found it unbearable that he wasn't touching her.

He sat up and curled his fingers tightly in her hair while his other hand slid over her bum, and down between her legs. His cock popped out of her mouth with a wet noise as her lips went slack and she moaned, pressing back against his hand. She whispered a spell, and her palm was suddenly coated with a thick lubricant, and Hermione went back to stroking and licking his penis while Severus allowed two fingers to slide under the elastic by her leg and coast lightly against her slick flesh. She shuddered, but didn't stop her rhythmic stroking. Her tongue slid around the thick mushroom head and she sucked hard. He cursed and thrust up a little into her mouth. God, the _heat_ of her mouth alone was enough to make him nearly lose himself. Gently, he pushed her away and urged her to lie down.

His body covered hers and he ground against that sweet spot between her legs and she sobbed and locked her ankles behind his back. "Oh gods, yes. Please." Hermione's voice was hoarse, and it broke as he thrust against her again. "Severus, please."

"No." He untangled one of her hands from his hair and brought it to his mouth, allowing his tongue to lave the skin between her fingers. His eyes were fastened to hers and she licked her lips as he slowly lapped at the tender skin and rubbed his cock against her core.

"I want to… Severus I need to… please."

"No," he repeated again with infinite patience.

He released her hand and eased off of her, pulling her naughty green panties down her legs. Hermione's eyes were wide as she realized what he was going to do. "I'll come immediately if you do that."

"That's okay. I'll just make you come again later, too."

He buried his face between her legs and moaned at the sweet scent of her. She was incredibly wet and he lapped at her, running the tip of his tongue between her lips and around her clit. Severus was forced to hold her hips down as she bucked and tried to increase the pressure of his mouth on her. He slipped two fingers inside her cunt and watched as he flexed them, sliding in and out. His tongue went back to circling her clit, and as soon as he heard her breathing change he eased a third finger into her and dragged the flat of his tongue in three slow, cat-like licks across the bundle of nerves.

Her heels drummed the floor as she came, and he could feel her core milking his hand in waves. He surged up and slid into her and flexed his hips, bottoming out. Hermione was tight like a glove and he gritted his teeth as he felt her orgasm momentarily strengthen again when he )tretched her to accommodate his girth.

Severus kissed her gently as she came back to herself, and as soon as he saw her eyes focus, he smiled. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you, Severus." He rocked against her. Hermione's eyes closed.

"I didn't think it would feel this good so soon after coming."

"Just wait, love."

He set a gentle, steady rhythm while he gave her time to lose some sensitivity from her last orgasm. When he saw her bite her lip, he knew the fires were building in her belly again, and he began to thrust harder. Hermione's head fell back as she wrapped her hands shamelessly beneath her knees so that his fit would be tighter and deeper.

"Oh yes. Gods yes, Hermione."

"Pleeeease," she moaned. "More, gods more."

Severus grabbed one of her legs and threw it over his shoulder. The slap of his thighs against her ass was a beautiful noise as he thrust deeply inside her tight, little quim. "I'm so close, love."

"Gods, Severus. Yes, deeper. Severus, Severus, Sev, Sev, _Sev,_ ooooooh yes… OH! OH, SEVERUS!"

And hearing her cry his true name finally sent him over the edge. He cried out and spilled himself inside of his love and collapsed into her welcoming arms. As their breathing returned to normal, he nuzzled the curls beneath her ear and whispered, "You've lost your chance. I have you now, and I am never letting you go."

"Thank god," Hermione said, shaking. "Thank god."

* * *

_A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it. I'll leave more detailed notes later. I'm off to dinner for my birthday. :)_

**Eram quod es, eris quod sum** - _I was what you are, you will be what I am. _


	26. Chapter 25

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. As we get closer to the end, the chapters are getting harder and harder to write. I think I'm going to go through Con/Snape withdrawal when this piece is finally done. Iz sad._

_Harry Potter and everything you recognize here belongs to JK Rowling. She created an awesome world that is irresistible and I can't help but want to play in it. This is fanfiction, and as such, I make no profit on it._

**

* * *

****Chapter Twenty-Five**

Severus had never seen a sight as beautiful as Hermione lying on his bed in his professor's quarters. She was curled on her side, her head propped on her hand and supported by the acute angle of her elbow. Her brown eyes followed him as he shrank his belongings and packed them with precision in several open trunks on his floor.

"Where are you going to go? What's going to happen next?" Hermione rolled onto her stomach and tapped the bed with her foot. The Potions master heard what she was really asking him. He smiled and shrank his _Compleat Lexicon of Potionnes_. He pursed his lips and after some consideration he also cast a cushioning charm on the rare tome.

"I'll be in Hogsmeade. I couldn't stand to be too far from you. It makes me feel unsettled." Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw her flush in pleasure. "Since you still need to sit your NEWTS, I thought I'd rent a cottage until you've graduated. Then we'd reassess the situation together."

"You'll do Potions research?"

He felt a rapturous smile spread across his normally reserved face. "Yes. The shackles that bound me to both of my masters are finally gone, and I'm free to pursue my research." Severus strode to his bureau and picked up a letter that was propped against a stack of books. He tossed it to her. "Look what I got this morning."

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw the seal of St. Mungo's, and she pushed herself up to sit cross-legged. With impatient, nervous fingers, she fumbled until it fell open in her lap. "No! Severus!"

"Yes, my dear. You'd best believe it."

"I can't believe it. St. Mungo's loved it! They absolutely loved our jenett potion for patients with memory problems."

"You've not seen the best part. Keep reading." He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, and pushed a lock of her heavy hair from her shoulder. She smelled wonderful and he couldn't help but bury his nose in her neck as she scanned the letter.

"Oh gods! Money. They've given us grant money, Severus. A lot of it."

He pulled back and smiled at her in contentment. Their hands connected, fingers interlacing without their conscious intent. "I was hoping that when you've graduated, you'd come live with me and we might work on it together, Hermione. I'm not interested in pursuing this if you are not by my side."

"Who would have thought you'd end up being so sappy?" She smiled, softening her words. "Where's your bite, Severus?"

"Does it bother you? That I'm soft with you?" He cocked his head, curious.

"Not at all." Her hand cupped his cheek. "Besides, I know your snarky git is still crouching in your belly, waiting to jump out and startle Ron and Harry out of complacency."

"Oh, gods!" Severus exclaimed. "Potter and the Weasel. When are you going to tell them?"

"I'm not. Draco practically begged me to allow him to be the one to enlighten them."

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Hermione, you realize that he's probably going to tell them that I have a history of spousal abuse and drug addiction. Or that I'm into stealing children and using their bits as Potions ingredients."

She slid her arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair reassuringly. "Yes, I know." Severus looked at her with the edge of his mouth curling like a wreath of smoke. "But how much _more_ relieved will they be when they discover the _actual _truth? Besides, I think Draco might surprise us."

* * *

"So, to sum up: Your friend Constantine Prince is, in reality, my Uncle Severus and he's shagging Hermione like a Hippogriff in heat despite a twenty-year age difference."

Ron's face was pale. Very, very pale. He stumbled and sat down hard on the stone bench in the Hogwarts courtyard.

"She must really like it because they're still together, and I see her coming and going from the dungeons all the time. Yes, in through his office, out through his quarters. In and then back out. In and out. In and out." Draco punctuated his words with a quirked eyebrow and some lewd hand gestures.

Harry swallowed and looked as if he was struggling not to be ill.

"Isn't it nice how these things work out? It's true love between your best friend and our old and saggy Potions professor."

"Gods, Malfoy. No more! Have mercy, please." Ron stumbled away a few steps.

"Oh, the images that have been burned into my mind that I shall never, _ever_ be able to remove. I'm not sure which nightmares will be worse: facing Voldemort or Snape humping Hermione." Harry had removed his glasses and was mashing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Ron's head jerked towards Harry. "Never use the word 'humping' ever again or I will have to kill you, and then I would get locked up in Azkaban, and oh gods, I don't want to go to Wizarding prison."

Harry looked at Draco's gleeful face and then spoke. "Well, let's think about this – "

"NO!" Ron shouted, holding his hands up to fend off phantom images of Snape's bobbing arse.

"No, listen a minute. Let's think about this logically. We liked Con, right?"

"Yeah," Ron said, his voice grudging. "Sort of. Although he was kind of a git."

"Con was actually Snape. So, maybe…" Harry paused, his face wrinkled. Draco rolled his eyes at Potty's slow-wittedness. "Maybe, we'll like Snape, too."

"Could be." The redhead chewed on his nails and cast a glance at the blond who was rapidly growing agitated. "And he _did_ help us save Hermione. That makes him all right, in my books. But, urgh… Snape. Kind of gross, wot?"

"Are you kidding me?" The blond was irritated that the two boys were already calming down. He'd thought there'd be more fireworks than this, and Malfoy saw his chance to aggravate Potty and the Weasel slipping through his fingers like sand in a clenched fist. "Don't you get it? He's shtupping her. Snape's probably got her legs over his shoulders right now. They're having rabid kneazle sex! Penis/Vagina! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Draco was violently disappointed that this was not going over like the lead balloon he'd hoped. If he was honest, he was so ecstatically happy to have his uncle back and his father out of his life that he'd have been content even if Snape was tupping Hagrid while cross-dressing like Longbottom's grandmother. But one of his few joys in life was poking at Potter and his friends, and they refused to _play_. He pouted.

"Now look here, Malfoy. Con Prince was our friend, so we'll not have you talking about Snape's bedroom sports with Hermione." Ron stopped, and then laughed. "If that's not the most convoluted thing I've ever said."

Harry stood a little straighter. "And it's Hermione's decision after all. If she likes him, then that's that. Can't get in the way of true love. It's almost sweet in a way."

Ron's mouth twitched. "Yeah. Two swotty bookworms who like to yell finding love, one with the other." He clasped his hands together and fluttered his eyelashes.

"That's it. Fuck you both. I'm leaving. This is hopeless. You are both utterly hopeless."

Draco turned to stomp away and had to grit his teeth when he heard Harry whisper to Ron, "Sounds like Malfoy has some weird obsession with Snape and Hermione doing it. He can be a creepy bugger, can't he?"

* * *

When Draco was out of hearing range, Ron looked at Harry, his lips twitching madly. "True love? Sweet?"

Harry barked a laugh that sounded like it was torn out of him. "I nearly lost it, mate. It was the hardest thing I've ever done – saying that with a straight face. What about you? 'Two swotty bookworms falling in love?' I thought I was going to start cackling like a maniac."

Ron snorted. "I thought that one was particularly good. Malfoy's my friend, but he still can be a berk. Imagine breaking news like that – trying to get a rise out of us." His smile faded, and his freckles once again stood out on his pale skin like drops of blood on snow.

They sighed and collapsed on the bench together.

"'Mione and Professor Snape. It _is_ gross, isn't it? He's not saggy like Malfoy said, but he's so much older than us." Harry's voice was contemplative.

"And his hair _is _greasy."

"True. His temper's uncertain at the best of times." Harry cocked his head. "With us, anyway. Have you ever heard him raise his voice to Hermione?"

Ron bent his leg and rested his chin on his knee. "No."

"Me neither."

"You don't think they actually _are _having sex?"

"No. Absolutely not. And they never will. Let us never discuss this again." Harry shuddered. "Hey, Ron."

"Yeah, Harry?"

"I'm completely and utterly disgusted by this conversation, but I just want to say that… I'm kind of happy for them."

"Yeah. Me, too."

* * *

_Twenty stirs clockwise, a dram of marjorum, and then…_

The knock at the door to the Potions laboratory set his teeth on edge. Severus admitted that moving his research into the communal lab he'd shared with Hermione had been a foolish and sentimental act. He now suffered all kinds of interruptions that he'd never had to deal with when he used the private lab off of his living quarters. However, the possibility that Hermione might pop in and join him was appealing.

"Enter."

Trepidation tightened the muscles in his back when he saw Potter and Weasley enter. Harry gave him a small, uncomfortable smile and glanced around the laboratory.

"So this is where the magic happens, huh?" The black-haired boy waved his fingers in what Severus presumed was supposed to be a mystical way.

_Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty stirs._

"Do you really want me to answer such a mind-numbingly idiotic question, Potter?"

Harry sighed. "I suppose not."

The Potions master's graceful hands opened up the container of marjorum and measured out the required amount. "Are you here for any particular reason?"

Ron pulled up a stool and sat. He crossed his legs, ankle resting on his knee and regarded him with a level stare. Severus thought he'd never looked more like an adult. He bore a striking resemblance to his father, Arthur Weasley – a man Severus had always respected for his work in the Order.

"We're here to talk to you about… all of this." The redhead waved his hand vaguely between them. "Us, you, Hermione. Do you have time now? Or would you prefer to set up an appointment, Professor Snape?"

Severus allowed the fall of his dark hair to hide his expression. He wouldn't mind continuing the friendship that had started to grow between them like an inelegant and scrubby joshua tree in the desert. However, their youth worked against them, making them intemperate and stubborn. He was unsure if they would accept him either as a friend or an appropriate suitor for Hermione. With a flick of his ebony wand, he cast a Stasis Charm on his potion, and turned to the two boys.

"I find that I am free now. Would you like to adjourn to my office so that we can sit in greater comfort?" His voice was biting.

Harry and Ron followed him into his office and gaped when they saw the shelves were completely denuded of preserved eyeballs and strange animals shoved in bell jars with Preservative Potion. All of the professor's thick tomes were missing, and in fact, all the office contained was a massive scarred desk made of burred elm and three chairs.

"Bonny," he barked, causing the two boys to jump. It hadn't been intentional, but he smirked nonetheless. _Well, when entertainment presented itself so readily, it would be churlish not to enjoy it._ When the house elf appeared in her grubby smock, her eyes were wide and fearful. Bonny had been a Malfoy house elf, and she still acted like it. He smiled at her gently, knowing her history. "Tea for three, please."

They sat in a silence that Severus found surprisingly comfortable, and when the elf returned laden with a tea tray, the Potions master played Mother – automatically adding a teaspoon of sugar for Ron and a generous dollop of milk for Harry.

Severus could tell they were uncomfortable by his simple act of remembering how they liked their tea, and Harry and Ron looked at the cups in their hands as if they could shed light on just how they were supposed to speak with someone they thought they knew, but never did. Severus took pity on them, and when he spoke, he kept his voice as gentle as if he was speaking to Bonny.

"What exactly do you want from me?" His voice was silky and polite.

Harry glanced at Ron momentarily before meeting the gaze of the Potions master. Severus saw confusion there in the instant before Harry spoke. "Why, I should have thought it would be obvious. We want to get to know you."

Of all the responses that they could have offered him, Severus had never expected this gift. He read absolute sincerity in their faces, and risking much, the Potions master decided to reach out to them. He was never very good at being vulnerable with anyone except Hermione, and so the olive branch he offered was wilted and half-dead as he waited for his hand to be smacked.

"I suppose there would be worse things. Evisceration or the Dragon Pox, for example. Yes, I should rather get to know you than have the Pox." He cleared his throat and ran the tip of his finger over a deep groove on his desk. "How shall we proceed?"

"Well, we've no set plan," Ron said. "We thought we should just talk as if we were normal people who wanted to know more about each other."

Severus nodded.

Silence descended on the room as Ron and Harry desperately tried to think of questions their snarky Potions master wouldn't think were fresh, and Severus tried to shift his thinking away from his role as their professor. Minutes passed, the lack of sound stifling and beginning to choke the occupants of the room.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Severus murmured.

"Nah, it's just awkward," Ron said. "We'll figure it out. We've got to, because Hermione is deadly serious about you, and if we want to stay a part of her life it'd be easier on her if we… you know, liked each other. Or at least got along."

Severus raised his eyebrow and looked nonchalant. "She said that? She's serious about me?"

Harry laughed at his former professor's studied show of innocence. "Of course. Did you have any doubt?" He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Ron and I always thought she rather fancied you even before this whole thing started. Hermione always mentioned how graceful she thought you were, and her eyes were always glued to your hands when you were preparing potions in class."

Ron brayed in laughter. "We told her she was barmy, of course!"

The older man crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "Shut your mouth, Weasel."

Smirking in good humor, Ron said, "Sure thing, Professor."

"Severus." He shifted in his chair and looked away from the two boys.

"What?"

He turned back to them, his eyes dark and quiet. "You may call me Severus."

Harry reached across the desk to clasp the Potions master's hand. Slowly, as if afraid this might all still be an elaborate prank, the older man grasped it. It was firm and Potter's skin was calloused from Quidditch.

"It's nice to meet you, Severus." The boy's green eyes glowed.

"The pleasure is all mine, P—Harry, Ronald."

* * *

When Snape left Hogwarts, he walked out with an honor guard. On his left, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley stood tall, their shoulders squared as they escorted him to the gates. On his right, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy strode with their chins lifted proudly.

The students who saw this strange phenomenon noticed her small hand was wrapped in the hem of his robes. If they were very observant, they might have noticed that the Potions master had slowed his steps just enough so that Hermione could keep pace without appearing to be rushing. But the most fascinating thing occurred once Severus Snape had crossed off of school property.

With a solemnity more fitted to a funeral than a simple goodbye, the former professor shook the three boys' hands before turning to the slip of a girl at his side. His face softened, and he reached out and tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling a lock of it perfectly straight before allowing it to bounce and curl around his hand lovingly.

"How fascinating," he whispered before turning away and Apparating.

The three boys moved to surround her, touching her face, her arm, her shoulder. Hermione did not cry, but instead stood with her gaze fixed upon the point where he disappeared. She took a hiccupping breath and at last turned to look at her friends.

"Well," the girl said. "The weather's quite cold. Let's go back inside."

_A/N: One more chapter to go!! Like it, love it, hate it, review it!_


	27. Chapter 26

_A/N: Here it is. I hope you guys like it. :) _

_This is all JK Rowling's. This is a work of fanfiction, and as such I make no munney on this. It's simply for slavish adoration of her world. I admit it. I want to have ten million of her babies. As a side note, I'm also considering writing some Dressagegrrrl/JK Rowling femmeslash. ...This author's note is getting kind of creepy, so... I'm going to go now._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

It had to be perfect for her.

When he'd seen the house, Severus had known that she would love it for its steeply-sloped thatched roof and simple, whitewashed walls. The picket fence that surrounded it was idyllic and there was enough room for a traditional Potions garden to help defray the cost of their research. There was room to grow, with an extra bedroom with cheerful dormer windows perfect for a nursery. That is, if Hermione wanted to have a child. With him.

Severus was not averse to the idea of starting a family, but all he _really_ wanted was her, and so because of that, the house had to be perfect for her arrival and he had almost four months to prepare.

Yes, the cottage was charming with its rustic wattled walls and numerous windows, but it had been unoccupied for a number of years and needed a significant amount of work.

The hardwood floors had to be sanded and resealed – he didn't want her picking up splinters in her little feet as she shuffled to the kitchen for her morning coffee. The interior walls needed to be repainted – Severus wanted Hermione to be surrounded by bright, cheerful colors. The outbuilding on the property was in decent shape but needed to be made bigger on the inside than the outside so that it could house their Potions laboratory. _Their_ Potions laboratory. He liked that.

Humming, Severus _Scourgified_ the interior of the outbuilding. Slowly, the grime and soot that covered the walls began to dissipate. He had to cast the spell repeatedly at every surface in the room, and by the time he was done (several hours later), he was drenched in sweat and felt magically depleted from the repetition of the simple cleaning spells. Smirking, he wondered if this was how Molly Weasley had such amazing stamina on the battlefield. The woman had been a surprise during the final battle. Although her spells were not as strong as some of the other combatants, they packed a punch long after the rest of the Order had been swaying on their feet from exhaustion. Severus couldn't attest to it himself – having been rendered unconscious from the Cruciatus Curse – but rumor had it that the dumpy but formidable woman had placed her hands on her hips when it was all over and demanded just _who_ was going to clean up the battlefield, because it _certainly_ wasn't going to be her. He hoped it was true. Arthur and Molly had always treated him with kindness and respect. They were so very real.

Puttering about in the outdated kitchen, he fixed himself a ham sandwich and allowed his tired muscles to relax. In the quiet room, Severus took his solitary meal and felt accosted by the silence. He shifted uncomfortably in the kitchen chair – a battered relic that had seen better days. When he'd found it in the attic of the house covered in dust and cobwebs, the Potions master had felt a sense of kinship with the abandoned furniture and decided to offer it a second chance just as Hermione had offered one to him. He'd wiped it down and recovered the seat and cast several _Reparos_ on the stripped screws and scratched veneer. After Severus had completed it, the chair had gleamed and looked like it was _worth_ something, and the man had felt an inexplicable upsurge of hope. Maybe, at least to _her_ he was worth something, too.

It was a really stupid metaphor.

The chair was deuced uncomfortable, making his bum ache within moments of sitting. He'd also chosen a violent puce cloth to recover the seat in the spirit of surrounding his lover in bright colors. When he'd realized how hideous it was, he'd cast several charms to swap out the fabric for gentler tones, but it was as if the thrice-blasted chair was determined to be ugly.

Bloody metaphors.

He missed her.

Severus missed her so badly he ached. He wasn't a fucking piece of neglected furniture. He was a man in love that missed his companion. Once his dishes were resting in the sink, he went back to the Potions laboratory. This was all for her. But if he was honest, it was for him, too. He wanted to do something special that made Hermione sit up and say, _he really must care for me._

He waved his wand and murmured under his breath. Two windows in the lab exploded in a shower of glass.

* * *

Hermione felt greyer after Severus left. She still smiled and laughed with her friends – a circle that had stretched to include Draco, to her surprise – and studied for the NEWTs with a fierce determination, but she felt drab because she wasn't living the life she was supposed to lead. For the next four months, she was stuck in a holding pattern, and she hated it.

She missed him.

But when she slept, she dreamt of him. She thought of him and smirked during Professor Binn's class when the man droned on about Slashfang the Upright. Harry and Ron couldn't understand why the library suddenly brought a flush to her cheeks, but Draco's mouth turned down at the corners and he looked unsettled.

It was a half life, but it was enough for her for it wouldn't last forever.

And of course, it helped that she received letters from him on a consistent basis. Severus had a sour barn owl that nipped at Harry and Ron, but was terribly gentle with its wicked beak when it took a rind of bacon from her hand. She would thank it gravely, and it would bob its head before taking flight, making sure to smack one of the boys in the head with a wing as it left.

"What'd you get today, 'Mione?" Ron said, his mouth full of eggs.

"I don't speak to disgusting boys." Her voice was prim as she flipped through her mail. Junk, junk, an advert asking if she wanted to increase her bust size for that special wizard in her life (she paused momentarily at that one before discarding it in the junk pile), a Victoire's Secrets Catalog for the Naughty Witch, and a letter from Severus.

Surreptitiously, she slipped the catalogue up her sleeve. It was too late however, and she felt a lightly muscled arm slip over her shoulders.

"Hermione," Draco began. "When you're done with that catalogue, can I-"

"No."

"What are you on about?" Harry asked.

"Hermione's got a lingerie magazine."

"Really? Hey, Hermione, when you're done with that, I'd love to see it!"

"Et tu, Harry? No, none of you can see my smutty clothing catalogue."

Ron sniffed disdainfully. "Fine. See if we ever rescue you from an insane psychopath again!"

Hermione's mouth tightened. "I don't see how that has anything to do with you wanking off to my magazine."

The three boys looked offended. "Never!" Ron said. "It's for purely aesthetic purposes for me and Harry. You might want to think twice about lending it to Draco, though. I think he likes to prance around in ladies underwear."

"_First_ of all, Malfoys do not prance. Ever. _Second, _Malfoys do not cross dress. Usually. Lucius might have been an exception."

The three boys launched into a heated discussion about silk versus lace, and finally Hermione could no longer stand it.

"Oh, just shut up! Fine. If you will shut your mouths, I will loan you the sodding catalogue _after_ I have finished with it. However, I noticed that none of you asked what _I_ might be doing with this bit of fluff, so let me enlighten you. I'm buying naughty lingerie for Severus Snape. Yes, that's right! As you drool and touch yourself looking at the pictures of the models in their skimpy clothing, I want you to remember that I might be wearing that _same exact outfit_ for your old Potions professor."

They wilted like cut flowers in the sun.

"Jeez, Hermione," Ron whined. Harry and Draco both looked woozy and leaned their shoulders together for support.

"She just ruined the entire month of February, Potter. Your friend is cruel. So cruel."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "If you boys will excuse me, I have a letter from Severus that I'd like to read in private."

She excused herself after Vanishing her junk mail, and went to the library for some privacy. Hermione sat on the ladder in the Great House Elf Cheese Revolt section and opened her letter.

_Hermione,_

_I'm not an abandoned piece of furniture that you need to spit shine and polish up. _

_I learned today what made Molly Weasley such a powerful asset on the battlefield._

_I'm tired of eating ham sandwiches even though I've bought the good kind of mustard with the grains in it._

_I'm cleaning up our cottage and making it into a comfortable home for us._

_I miss you and your atrocious hair._

_Severus_

_PS – I've enclosed a copy of my research notes on the jenett potion. I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter._

She smiled and pulled out the thick packet of paper covered in his spidery scrawl. Gods, she loved that man.

* * *

When the time came for her to take her NEWTs, Hermione felt adequately prepared. She had decided to test for Potions, Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations, Charms, Muggle Studies (why not?), and Ancient Runes. The first day, she took all of her written tests, struggling only in Muggle Studies.

She was a bit put out about that.

Hermione had been raised as a Muggle, but the problems she encountered on the written test stymied her. They were winding questions, curious and attenuated, that had more to do with a wizard's perception of the Muggle world than anything with which Hermione had familiarity.

For example:

_Muggles use autocars to transport themselves and goods to different locations. What makes the car go?_

_A. The gas pedal_

_B. Horsepower_

_C. The catalytic converter_

_D. Cornish pixies _

Or don't forget:

_Muggles use various gadgets in the kitchen to compensate for their terrifying lack of magic. Name a gadget that does NOT belong in the kitchen._

_A. Automatic bread slicer_

_B. Stovetop_

_C. Computer_

_D. Maytag_

How could Hermione possibly explain that she'd never heard of an automatic bread slicer, or that computers had shrunk to the size of notebooks and could be kept in any room of the house? Even more confusing was the inclusion of a brand name that could mean one of any number of appliances.

Hermione felt she did reasonably well, but resolved that she would write a sharply worded letter to the Ministry about the quality of the Muggle Studies NEWT.

The next day, she took her practical exams. In Potions, she was asked to brew five potions in four hours. One potion took the full four hours to brew. The rest took between one and three hours each. She was only given three cauldrons, but was asked to complete all five. Hermione smirked. They were not only testing a Potioneer's ability to create the required potions, but their ability to use logic and synthesis between ingredients to brew in the most effective manner. She had a sneaking suspicion that completing three potions well meant an Acceptable, finishing four meant an Exceeds Expectations, and brewing all five meant an Outstanding.

Hermione, of course, completed all five beautifully.

In Transfigurations, she was given twelve rats and a single children's book. The rats were set loose in the room, and the examiners asked her to contain them. The Gryffindor spent just a moment flipping through the pages of The Wizard and his Waistcoat and noticed that there were eleven pages exactly. The examiners clearly expected her to make a cage out of each page and the cover in which to trap the vermin. Smirking, she transfigured the entire book into a bone flute and played a jaunty tune she'd discovered in the authorized biography of Friedrich Von Huffenpepper, the Pied Piper of Hamlin. The rats raced to the middle of the room and stood in four perfect rows of three. The examiner's mouth hung open, and the Gryffindor could hear Severus's voice snapping,_ Shut your gape before it attracts flies_. She snickered.

She breezed through the practical Charms exam, and strolled to take her last NEWT – Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione felt well-prepared. It would, after all, be laughable if they gave her anything less than an 'O' since she had helped the Boy-Who-Lived cut a swathe through the Dark Lord's minions at the final battle.

Dueling briefly with the examiner, Hermione realized that despite her encyclopedic knowledge of spells and charms, the man facing her was much faster, and she was having trouble deflecting his attacks. Thinking critically, she allowed herself to take a Jelly-Legs Jinx (scoffing internally because what Dark wizard would cast such a laughable jinx?) so that she could catch him with a non-verbal Expelliarmus while he was overextended from casting. Once he was disarmed, she cast a Finite Incantatem on her legs. Hermione explained to the examiner her thought process even though she knew it sounded swotty. After all, this was for a grade! She couldn't allow him to think he'd gotten the drop on her.

Hermione was relieved to discover that facing a bogart (the normal end to every Dark Arts NEWT) had been purged from the exam because of the recent war. It was probably a wise decision. The examiners would have wet their pants when Harry stepped into the room and a Voldemort-bogart burst from the closet.

When it was all over, Hermione met her three friends in the Great Hall for dinner. Harry looked tired, Ron looked worried, and Draco looked smug.

About as expected.

* * *

The floors were done.

The Potions lab was sparkling and fully-stocked.

Severus had finished painting the walls.

By hand. Because Hermione had said that charming the walls caused the color to lack a depth and beauty that using paint lent.

So he'd fucking painted the walls by hand.

The house was furnished with the bare essentials – a bed, a kitchen table, pots and pans, and that god-awful chair. Severus hadn't wanted to buy any other furniture because this was going to be _their_ house, so he wanted her to have a say in picking it out. Women seemed to like that, and besides, he'd proven that he had no sense of style when he'd reupholstered that ugly chair. He sneered at it.

All the house needed now was Hermione.

* * *

Graduation finally arrived and not a moment too soon. The letters that Aloysius the owl (named by Hermione) grumpily ferried back and forth between the two lovers were growing tenser with undisguised longing and sexual desire. It had been a difficult four months apart.

Even Hogsmeade weekends hadn't helped because Minerva McGonagall had volunteered to chaperone every one in order to keep her beady eyes on the Gryffindor girl. She couldn't stop Hermione from seeing and talking to Severus, but she certainly put the kibosh on touching. The Transfigurations professor wouldn't even allow them to hold hands, stating that since Hermione was a student under her care she was obligated to ensure appropriate behavior for a Hogwarts attendee. They would stare at each other with haunted eyes and make stilted conversation while their fingers would creep towards each other. It was such a terrible strain on them that the curly-haired girl had skipped the last two Hogsmeade weekends, preferring to wait until a time when they were free to act on their emotions.

Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror and smoothed down her graduation robes. Her eyes were clear and her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. She decided to keep her cosmetics light since whatever she put on would probably end up smeared on Severus's face by the end of the evening. She hoped anyway.

The graduation robes she wore were red and in the sea of students clothed in black, she stood out like a rose on tarmac. As the student at the top of her class, she wore her house colors proudly and was granted the privilege of being the first to receive her diploma and NEWTs scores.

Harry, Ron, and Draco escorted her out to the Quidditch pitch and they queued up with the other students.

There was a veritable sea of parents and well-wishers in the audience, as well as a fair amount of the press there to see the Boy-Who-Lived-Again graduate. She heard Harry muttering in aggravation behind her, but she did not pay attention. Hermione's eyes were too busy scanning the crowd for a tall, lean figure clothed in black.

She heard Draco mutter, "Oh, shut up Potter. Maybe with your picture in the paper you might actually be able to find a date for once. There's always a silver lining to media exposure. Make the best of it and cease your whining."

"You are so unsupportive, Malfoy. It's a wonder that we're friends." Harry's voice was sulky.

Hermione turned to look at the two in time to see Draco's face flush a brilliant red. He turned his shoulder to the black-haired Gryffindor and sniped, "Yes well, don't let being a Malfoy family friend go to your head. I still think you are gitty and ugly and…" He trailed off.

Harry patted him on the shoulder. "Me too, Draco. Me, too."

* * *

"Hermione Granger," the headmaster called.

The girl stepped forward and walked towards the row of all of her professors (minus one). As she shook each of their hands and thanked them earnestly for guiding her during such a difficult time in her life, Albus Dumbledore continued speaking.

"On behalf of the entire faculty, we want to wish our Head Girl the best of luck in the coming years. Not only was she an excellent student and a faithful friend to Harry Potter, Ms. Granger has received the highest marks on her NEWTs since our former Potions master Severus Snape was a student here at Hogwarts. Her scores were nearly perfect and earned her an Outstanding on six out of seven of her exams."

When she reached the headmaster, he handed her the diploma and a copy of her NEWTs. "My dear, I find it quite ironic that the only subject in which you did not receive an Outstanding was Muggle Studies." His eyes twinkled. "It would please me very much to shake the hand of the most brilliant witch of this generation."

Hermione stared into the face of the old man, amazed at his ability to maintain his mask of benevolent dottiness. His face was absolutely alight, and the bright sunshine on the pitch made his white hair and beard seem to glow. He was a great man – terrible, yes, but great.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," she replied. "I have great respect for you as an educator. You have created an atmosphere here at Hogwarts that has fostered many great minds. I respect the effort you put in during both Vold Wars, and the Grindelwald War before that." The elderly man in front of her smiled, his face softening marginally. "I'm afraid however, that I hold no respect for you as a human being. I cannot shake your hand."

Hermione turned and walked away from him, ignoring the collective gasp of the audience. In fact, she barely heard it as her heart started pounding in her chest, thudding against her sternum like the hollow boom of a lightning strike. Severus Snape was standing by the edge of the platform, waiting for her to descend.

His face was fierce, and almost as if he didn't realize what he was doing, he reached out for her hand.

She wanted to rush at him and throw her arms around his slender waist and sob into the lapels of his frock coat, but she refused to weaken her statement to the headmaster with a display that showed all the earmarks of childhood. And so instead, she allowed him to grasp her fingers and help her down the steps before stepping away from him. His black eyes glowed with approval and a small smile curled the edges of his mouth.

They didn't look back. They didn't wait to watch Ron, Draco, and Harry graduate. Severus Snape and Hermione Granger walked to the gates of Hogwarts and Apparated away.

* * *

Severus Apparated them to a street in Hogsmeade and then turned to Hermione with an expectant look upon his face.

"Guess which house it is."

She smiled at him, taking in the mingled hope and anxiety in his eyes before turning to look at the street in front of her. There were several lovely houses that she could see Severus choosing. They were well-built with fine, straight lines and modern construction. Hermione imagined they were the sort of homes that people bought in order to start families.

They were fine houses.

But they seemed rather soulless. They were as similar to each other as postage stamps, with little care put into their design.

Hermione bit her lip.

But there, at the end of the row of houses was a small, white cottage with a steeply-sloped thatched roof and roses growing up a trellis on the side. It wasn't nearly as spacious as the others, but it sat on a larger piece of land surrounded by a picket fence as straight and crisp as the line of her lover's frock coat.

She glanced at Severus out of the corner of her eye. Hermione wanted that to be their house.

Turning back to face the wattled cottage, she noticed a small outbuilding in the back yard that would be perfect for a Potions laboratory. Already, she could see them working side by side on their research and eating their lunch under the roses. They could start an ingredients garden.

Hermione _craved_ the life that house seemed to offer, but her prolonged silence appeared to be increasing his anxiety.

"Severus, I would love any of these houses as long as you were there by my side. But, if I had to guess, I'd say _that_ one." She pointed at the home her greedy heart was demanding.

The small smile that curled his lips was an affirmation.

"Is that it? Is that our house?"

He nodded, and she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her lips so she could kiss him deeply. Hermione laughed and jumped up and down in the circle of his arms. Severus smiled.

"Your curls bounce when you do that… as do other interesting parts of your anatomy. You have my permission to continue."

"Later, later! Oh, I was so hoping I was right! Please, show me our new home."

* * *

Severus breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he'd chosen wisely. Pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, he led her to the cottage and opened the gate for her. As they walked up the front path, he watched her eyes dart over the roses and the dormer windows that winked saucily in the morning light. Her cheeks had gorgeous color in them. She looked so _pleased_ that he couldn't stop the foolish smile from bleeding into his expression.

"Hermione, I have to warn you," he said. "There is very little in the way of furnishings inside. I bought just the bare essentials since I thought you'd prefer helping me decorate it. It'd be more _ours_ that way."

"I understand. And I do prefer it that way. There's nothing I'd like more than to help you make this homey. Please, take me to see the inside, Severus."

The way she said his name was both a tiny plea and a woman's demand to her lover, and the Potions master smirked, pleased. "What will you give me if I take you inside?"

"Absolutely nothing except this promise: If you do NOT take me inside this instant, you shall never see the naughty lingerie I purchased with you in mind."

He laughed, a deep and satisfied rumble in his chest. Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear. "Rest assured, I shall take you inside." He nibbled on her ear lobe and she swayed like a Quidditch post in high wind. Standing straight, he spoke in his normal tone of voice. "But for now, I shall also show you the interior of our house." Severus threw open the door and allowed her to enter.

She ran like a child through the house, exclaiming over the beauty and depth of the colors he chose for the walls, and the patina on the refinished hardwood floors. Hermione danced around the kitchen and opened cabinets, crying out in censure when she only found bread, ham, and the good kind of mustard – the one with the little grains in it.

"No wonder you look like you've lost some weight, Severus. This is not a healthy way to eat."

"Stop nitpicking, woman." His voice was absolutely serene, and he knew that he'd be disappointed if she actually listened. He'd long since discovered that nagging was one of Hermione's primary languages of love. "Now shut your mouth and come here."

Belying his curt words, he pulled her to his chest and cradled her like she was precious, tangling his fingers in her atrocious hair. Hermione sighed in contentment and rested her head on his chest.

Severus felt the exact moment when she froze.

He eased back from her and felt his heart plummet into his stomach when he realized her eyes were glued to the hated, thrice-blasted chair.

"That chair…" she whispered, pointing.

"Yes, I believe that's what they are called," he said in a long-suffering tone of voice. He pulled back from her completely and folded his arms across his chest.

"I love it. It's got such graceful lines."

"Well, we don't have to keep… What?"

"That chair is beautiful! Why wouldn't we keep it?"

"You love it?" _She loves the ugly chair!_ "Of course you do. How could you not? It's perfect and graceful." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, suddenly concerned about allowing Hermione to decorate the rest of their house when it was clear that she had abominable taste. "I have just one more thing to show you, love."

* * *

Hermione cried when she saw the Potions lab.

It wasn't the immaculate countertops or the state-of-the-art equipment that touched her. It wasn't the amount of work he'd put into expanding the space, or the care he'd taken in repairing the roof.

No, what caused Hermione's tears were the cuts on his beautiful hands and what they meant.

Severus had separated the space into two identical halves. There were two workstations, two centrifuges, two desks. Everything about it proclaimed that he saw her as an equal partner. The only thing that differed between the two halves of the rooms was the windows.

The window above each of the desks had been replaced with richly-colored stained glass works of art. On one side, the green Slytherin crest hung resplendent. On the other, the proud Gryffindor lion reared.

And Severus had cuts on his hands.

Hermione picked them up gently and kissed each cut. "You made these windows, didn't you?" She gave a soft, hiccupping sigh.

His face showed a terrible softness as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her against his chest. "Hush. Stop your blubbering. Did you expect me to do anything less for the woman I love?" He pressed a kiss to her temple.

* * *

He held her there, by the glowing green and red house crests, and for the first time in almost two decades, Severus Snape had hope for the future.

* * *

_A/N: Ooooooh, I'm soooo sad this is done. And relieved. I'm torn, clearly. I love you all, my faithful reviewers. Thank you so much for all of your lovely notes and kind words. They've meant quite a bit to me, and provided an excellent impetus to keep writing. _

_Thanks for taking this journey with me. _

_One last thing – this piece will be getting updated chapter by chapter as my beta (JunoMagic) and I go through and mop this up into something a bit more polished. So, if you check back in a couple of months, you might see some new content here._

_You know the drill. Like it, love it, hate it, review it._


	28. Disguised Affections Afterword

Hey all! Thanks so much for following Disguised Affections. I had a great time writing it, and you guys were one of the reasons why! It meant a lot that so many of you took the time to encourage, correct, or get to know me.

I promised a Draco-centric sequel to DA, and I just wanted to give you all a heads up that that the first chapter is up and posted! The story is called Hidden Depths.

If you are so inclined, please feel free to drop by my LJ at http colon backslash dressagegrrrl dot livejournal dot com. I'm always looking for more fennish friends!


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